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[WP] You, a renowned scientist, invented technology to listen to any moment in history. This audio has become the standard for criminal cases. The problem is when you listen in to the death of your closest friend it gets the details all wrong. You know this because you are their murderer.
|
It was a great irony that the very technology John and I invented would be pivotal in determining the cause of his death. At least, that’s what the Newspapers reported. In reality, the result was almost inevitable, set in stone from the moment we invented the beautiful machine that is Post Mortem Radio.
I use the word “we,” liberally. The idea for PMR was mine from the get go, premised on three basic theories: 1) light travels faster than sound, 2) space is filled with dark matter, and 3) sound can travel through dark matter. From there, it was just a matter of directing light to intercept soundwaves from a particular moment in time as they travelled through space. The result being that you could listen to past events.
It was my idea, John was just along for the ride. I patented it, built the prototype, and fine-tuned it into what it has become today. John was a glorified marketer, spending his time pitching and raising funding. Unfortunately, that’s not how the world saw it. John had positioned himself as the head of the project in the public eye, edging me out of my own creation.
So I killed him. It was that simple.
I took every precaution, planned it out for months. So I wasn't nervous at all when Detective Murlock called me in for a chat. Hell, I was expecting it. I’m sure he’d been fiddling with PMR for hours trying to get any hint of a signal.
“Thanks for coming down to the department,” Detective Murlock said. “Let’s step into my office, I want to ask you about PMR.”
I obliged. Detective Murlock’s office was a small, sterile room. It was furnished only with a desk, two chairs, and a large mirror on the wall behind him. He sat down, pulled PMR up on his desktop, and swiveled the screen so that I could see it.
“So let me start by saying, we have a suspect and hope to make an arrest soon,” John said.
“Thank you detective,” I said, feigning relief. “That’s great to hear. I’ve hardly been able to sleep the last few nights out of fear for my own safety.”
“Of course. I brought you in because the PMR recordings are going to serve as key evidence during trial. We would like you to explain to the jury how PMR works.”
“Sure,” I said, trying to hide my surprise. This was strange. No sound was made throughout the murder or any of the preparation leading up to it. PMR shouldn’t have a role in the trial at all. Unable to help myself, I continued. “Could I hear the recording?”
Detective Murlock nodded and pressed play. There was a loud bang, as if someone had broken through a door, followed by two sets of voices—one was John, the other I didn’t recognize.
>"John! Come on out you cowardly bastard!"
>
>"Who’s there?! I’m calling the cops!"
>
>"You don’t remember me?"
>
>"Stay back!"
>
>"You don’t remember the man who’s idea you stole? You ruined me, John! Post Mortem Radio was *my* idea and you stole it!"
At this point, I was thoroughly confused. The voice in the recording wasn’t mine, that much was obvious. It was high-pitched, nasally, and I never said any of those things—I didn’t say anything at all. I didn't even break in through his door, I slipped in through an open window. None of this made sense, but the audio continued.
>"You stole my idea, made millions, and left me nothing! *Nothing!*"
>
>"I’m sorry! You weren't going to capitalize on it so I figured someone had to! Think about how much good PMR has done for the world!"
>
>"So you admit it? You admit it was my idea all along?"
>
>"Of course! It was your idea and I’ve regretted stealing it for the last decade. But I promise you, I only did it for the sake of humanity. Look, I’ll cut you a check right now. I'll even make a public statement about your involvement. Please, just don’t do anything rash. Please!"
>
>"It’s too late for that."
Three gunshots rang out, and the audio finished. I was speechless.
“Thoughts?” Detective Murlock asked.
“I… I uh…” I stuttered for a moment before coughing to collect myself. “Who was that?”
“We can’t say, the investigation is still ongoing but we’ll be making an arrest soon.”
I nodded, thinking for a moment. Something wasn't right here. “I don’t think that audio is accurate,” I said eventually. “There was never a third person involved in the development of PMR. It was always me and John.”
The detective seemed unfazed. “Well, I suppose neither of us can really know where John first got the idea for PMR, right?”
A rage bubbled up inside me like never before. “Well, candidly I do know where he got the idea from. He got the idea from *me*. PMR was my idea, John just marketed it.”
The detective smiled. “Right,” he said sarcastically. “Look, we just need you to explain how PMR works to the jury, all right? The audio speaks for itself.”
“I will not. That audio is wrong, and I can’t in good conscience let you play it to the jury, let alone the rest of the world.”
“The audio is wrong? Are you suggesting John’s invention is flawed?”
“It’s not John’s invention asshole, it’s mine!”
“And you think the audio is wrong?”
“Of course it’s wrong! John was strangled, not shot!”
The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. Detective Murlock grinned. "That's not public information, Doctor." All of the sudden the mirror behind the detective turned transparent, revealing four officers on the other side. Detective Murlock stood up, handcuffs at the ready. “You’re under arrest. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
“Linda!” Carlos shouted, pacing frantically through his lab. It was all wrong, every part of it. He ran the calculations in his head, reran them again, fed them through his terminal to triple check. She was so slow, why was she so slow, today of all days?
“Linda, seriously! I need you down here!”
“Coming!” she yelled back from upstairs. He heard her footsteps above him, normal, expected, as it always had been. When she finally reached the creaky staircase his pulse was nearly back to normal, tuned to the beat of her steps.
“Holy shit, Carlos! What’s wrong honey?” Linda exclaimed as soon as she saw him. Perhaps he wasn’t as in control as he’d thought.
“Someone reopened Jeremiah’s case,” he said.
Linda closed the distance between the quickly, balling up her sleeve in her first and dabbing at Carlos’ sweaty forehead. “Honey it’s ok,” she said, “this isn’t the first time people have looked into it. Our lawyers will stop it before it goes to court, we can afford the best now, remember? Besides, if the lawyers don’t get it they’ll still have to use SpyGlass.”
Carlos sat down heavily in his chair, running his fingers roughly through his thinning hair. SpyGlass. His life’s work, his legacy, the source of their wealth. “Linda, they can’t use SpyGlass,” he said. There were more words, important words, but it was so hard to say them.
She was patient though, she always had been. Linda pulled up another chair and sat down beside him, laying her hands over his, drawing them down into the space between them. “Carlos,” she said calmly, “why can’t they use SpyGlass?”
The words were still too hard. Instead Carlos leaned down, kissed the hands that had trapped his, and then unwound his fingers from hers, hitting a button on his keyboard.
For the first time in nearly twenty years, Jeremiah’s voice tore through the basement laboratory.
“You just want it for yourself!” Jeremiah shouted. “After all our work you two want to steal it, and for what, a couple extra dollars? We’re going to be rich Carlos, rich! How greedy can you possibly fucking be?”
“Please Jeremiah,” it was Linda’s voice now, speaking clearly through the recording. “You’ve been riding our work since we were kids. Where would you be without us? Would you have even made it through school? You’re a hack.”
“What the fuck did you say to me?” Carlos could just imagine how Jeremiah would have said that line, balling up his fists, tossing his long, braided hair back over his shoulder.
“She’s right.” That was his own voice. Carlos buried his head in his hands rather than watch the image of the sound waves just on the screen. “You’d be nothing without us. Look Jeremiah, we’re being generous here. We all know you don’t deserve a full share, but we’ll buy you out right now. $500,000, take it or leave it.”
“$500,000 for my life's work? Fuck off Carlos, there’s no way. We’re all in for a third, even split. We made that deal a long time ago.”
“Last chance,” Linda’s voice said menacingly.
“Or what?” Jeremiah said, “what the fuck are you two going to do to me?”
There was a loud click on the recording, it would be a singular, sharp spike on the wave form, Carlos could see it even with his eyes closed. Long seconds of silence followed, and then, horribly, Carlos heard his own voice again.
“Last chance,” he said.
Jeremiah was silent. Linda was silent. The gunshot was not.
Spyglass beeped loudly, signaling the end of the recording.
When Carlos looked up into his at his wife she was deathly pale and breathing raggedly. He took her hands again and they shook like leaves in the wind.
“That isn’t how it happened,” she said, “that isn’t how it happened at all.”
“I know,” Carlos said.
“ I know? I know? How are you so calm about this?” Linda sprang up, walking rapidly to the other side of the room and her terminal there. She began punching in numbers frantically, querying the same time stamp. The SpyGlass program began running again, the system’s massive infrastructure emitting a low room from the next room over as it reached back in time, sifting through the echoing disturbances sound waves left in the fabric of the world.
“That isn’t how it happened,” she said again and again, “this isn’t possible.”
Carlos let it go through it. He sat there at his own terminal, watching the progress of SpyGlass’s search over her shoulder as the minutes ticked down. Finally, after the longest fifteen minutes of his life, the recording started again.
Jeremiah’s voice tore through the room, then Linda’s, Jeremiah’s responding, Carlos agreeing with her. She let it play all the way up until the the gunshot and then ended the recording manually at the same moment he had.
Their gazes met across the lab and they both stood, walking unsteadily towards each other.
“That isn’t how it happened,” she said again.
“I know. There’s more afterwards that’s wrong, and our conversation the next day is gone entirely.”
“Is it SpyGlass?” she asked. “Could something be wrong with the program?”
Carlos shook his head. “I’ve checked and rechecked my math three times already, and I’m running a full diagnostic, it hasn’t found anything yet. Either something was off in our most basic assumptions about the SpyGlass theory, which I don’t think can be possible, or it’s something else. Something worse.”
“What could possibly be worse than that?” she asked.
Carlos took her hands again, they were still shaking. “What if someone was manipulating the program?” he said softly. “Or worse than that, what if they were manipulating the very echoes themselves?”
Linda stopped shaking. Her breathing stilled. Her skin was still shockingly pale but her discipline was coming back, she was reasserting control. “There’s only one person who could have done that and he’s dead. You stabbed him, not shot him, and he deserved every blow.”
Carlos nodded. “He’s dead, he must be, but you heard the recording too. If the investigation reaches court it will be absolutely damning. So I know this is hard for you but now I have to know. Baby, where did you bury Jeremiah’s body?”
\--------
r/TurningtoWords
(I got really into writing this and may try to continue it, I've been enjoying doing part 2s lately. Going to take a break and then try to get back to it. Hope you all enjoyed!)
edit: [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mf1al1/wp_you_a_renowned_scientist_invented_technology/gslol8l?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) is done. I think I will round this out with a part three in a bit. if anyone wants a notification when it's up let me know and i'll let you know
| 2021-03-28T08:36:51
| 2021-03-28T08:18:08
| 252
| 143
|
[WP] Write a romantic comedy. Difficulty: both lovers are emotionally mature and have excellent communication skills
|
*Was this it?*
Ahmed let out a deep sigh. As the CEO of Jhelum's #1 stamp factory, he was the wet dream of every Pakistani mother. Just the last week he had been approached by 14 of them. To be sure, some of their daughters were quite nice. But they all seemed to miss something. Something he couldn't quite grasp.
"You must be crazy," Muhammad said. "I mean, look at this one." His best friend picked up a letter from the pile with a photo attached. "If this girl doesn't get your stamp of approval, you are out of your mind."
Ahmed stroked his beard as if in consideration, but he had already rejected her. He wasn't looking for a girl with his stamp of *approval*. He was looking for the girl with the stamp ... of his *heart*.
"Ahmed," said Muhammad. "We've been friends now for, what, 20 years? You keep turning down girls I get rejected by even in my dreams. What's your problem?"
"Unrealistic beliefs and expectations derived mostly from Bollywood movies combined with a deep-seated fear not of ending up alone, but of ending up with in an otherwise perfect relationship with the feeling of being alone."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"So you, uh, want to go catch a movie or something?"
They were walking through the market on their way holding hands, as is perfectly normal for Pakistani male friends, when Muhammad suddenly stopped.
"Ahmed," he said, short of breath. "Look."
In front of them was a woman walking alongside a goat on a leash. Her beauty seemed absurd, as if she were a mirage. Everything around her lost its glow. Then her almond eyes met Ahmed's. And when she smiled, he felt as if he'd been stripped naked by a divine force.
"Excuse me!" said Muhammad. "My friend here was wondering something."
She looked at him, obviously curious, and stopped. "Oh?" she said.
Rather than an awkward stumbling, Ahmed spilled the beans: "I find you very beautiful and I have this feeling that I want to get to know you. Actually, I think you might be the woman I've been looking for all my life."
"That's very sweet," she said, "but I'm married."
"Oh," said Ahmed. "Well, then I guess we'll just both go back to doing whatever we were doing rather than engage in some flirty banter evolving into forbidden love and whatnot."
"Yeah that sounds reasonable."
"Sure does," said the goat.
Ahmed and Muhammad let out a simultaneous cry of surprise.
"Y-You can--"
"Talk? Why yes. I'm a goat and I can talk. I'm not offended that you are surprised. You'd expect that when an animal such as myself starts talking and that's not something you've heard before."
"Yes, I guess it's really just the appropriate reaction given the circumstances."
"Sure. It's like when you lick a stamp for the first time and it tastes funny. There's nothing like it, and so you'd be surprised at first."
"Funny you should mention that," said Ahmed. "I'm the CEO of a stamp factory."
"That's a funny coincidence."
"How so?"
"I lick stamps for a living."
"That *is* a funny coincidence."
"Say," said the goat. "how do you feel about going out for a coffee? Not to brag, but coffee was first discovered by goats."
"That's certainly an interesting proposal. I know I should be concerned about the fact that a relationship between a man and a goat would technically be considered beastiality, but I'm confident in my sexuality and I'm willing to give this a try without a series of inner conflicts."
"Great."
"Great."
Suddenly, Ahmed heard the unmistakable sound of smooching. Muhammad and the girl were busily at work.
"Muhammad!"
"What?" he said, his tongue still down her throat.
"This woman is married."
"Yes," said Muhammad," but we've decided to elope.
"Why, Muhammad, that's ... just splendid. I wish you both the best. I hope everything works out between you two. Like not getting killed by her husband or anything like that."
"Thank you Ahmed. That means a lot. And you and the goat as well. It's weird, but I hope you'll find what you are looking for."
Ahmed stared into the goat's bulging eyes. "You know, screw the coffee. Would you like to check out my stamp collection?"
The goat laughed. "You're such a card!"
They lived happily together but not for very long because a goat's average lifespan is just between 15-18 years.
|
“So how did you two lovebirds meet?” Sian asked, breaking the silence with a playful smirk. She knew full well how the young couple before her had met but she wanted to embarrass them in front of the group after what they had just made her do. Moira’s burning cheeks proved testament to just that. Satisfied with her question, she relaxed back with a soft chuckle. “Told you I’d get you back.” She gloated, sticking her tongue out childishly.
Moira’s cheeks continued to glow a cherry red as she glanced over at her partner. Who knew truth or dare could be such a dicey game at 32? They really were too old for this kind of carry on. Joseph offered her the same goofy smile he always did, the very one she had come to love, but there was still a tinge of pink highlighting his cheeks. “I’ll let you explain this one love, you always were better at-well, I guess they’ll see.”
Gregory, Laurel and Charlotte snapped their attention back to Moira, curiosity evident on their faces. This evening had taken a few turns they hadn’t quite expected when they first agreed to play spin the bottle. The group had become firm friends during their holiday break in Austria five years ago. So much so that they agreed to meet up every year to share their holidays together. This year they were somewhere a little more temperate, choosing sunny Spanish beaches over the snowy slopes.
“Uh…” Moira paused for a moment, noticing the groups eyes on her. She took a large gulp of her drink before taking a deep breath and beginning her little tale. “Well I used to be something of a-”
“-Con-artist?” Sian interrupted with a giggle. The groups eyes found a new target, which was met with a collective gasp.
“Sian!” Joseph scolded, “it’s Moira’s story let her tell it.”
“Oooooh fine!” She said, settling down. “Just want to make sure it’s told true…”
“I would call myself more of a negotiator but-” Moira cut in, reclaiming the spotlight “well I had a job to do until I was otherwise engaged.”
“I'd be more inclined to say you were distracted by a sexy man beast. ” Joseph teased, prodding her on the shoulder.
“Heh, I guess you could say that.” She replied with a soft smile. “Joseph was in a party of gentlemen attending a stag do at the bar I worked at. I was a stripper.”
Gregory narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to the side as if trying to picture it. “Hey!” Joseph shouted, snapping his friend out of it. Laurel punched Gregory on the shoulder and he retracted back in shock. “Hey guys I wasn’t being pervy I swear!” He protested as Joseph shot daggers his way. “I just really didn’t expect that to be your background. And Joseph… Man… I didn’t really take you for the kind of guy that hung out at strip joints. I mean I was kind of expecting a funny story not something sleazy…”
“Jesus Greg, would you shut the fuck up for once in your life and just let someone tell a story without any damn interruptions?” Laurel asked exasperated.
“Yeah-sorry.” Greg replied a little deflated, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry guys. Please eh continue.”
“Sure…” Moira started, “look I know this isn’t what you guys expected but it wasn’t what I expected either. I was supposed to dance and seduce the groom, then collect proof of his unfaithfulness. I was being paid by his soon to be wife who wanted to lure her fiancé into cheating so that she could divorce him with relative ease and half his assets a year into the marriage. This would be after she "discovered" some compromising photos of her husband and myself but then Joseph happened.”
“Yeah sorry about that.” Joseph apologised with a chuckle, “really ruined your plans for that night didn’t I?”
Moira smiled at him warmly. “Joseph you saved my life that night. I wouldn’t be who I am today if you hadn’t charmed me like you did.”
“She means if I hadn’t fell on her, knocking over the expensive tray of champagne she was carrying over to us, smashing all the glass in the process and then impaling us both on the shards.” Joseph grimaced at the memory.
“We spent the rest of the night waiting at the hospital in A&E, I had a rather nasty laceration on my neck and he had bloody hands. Given what I was wearing we must have looked a state. The nurses thought I was a prostitute and he’d assaulted me. After treatment we wound up with the police. I sweet talked us out of there and Joe offered to get me home. Once he got there we ordered pizza and watched a film. In the morning we swapped contacts which led to a few dates-"
"No more strip joints there!" Joseph interjected, winking at his partner.
"-and the rest is history.” Moira finished speaking and drained the rest of her drink. “Unorthodox maybe but it worked for us.” She added.
“You know I love you Moira,” Joseph told her, leaning over for a kiss. "I love you too Joe." She replied, smiling into the kiss.
“Hey! You guys are making me hurl over here, come on!” Sian protested, rolling her eyes.
Edit: grammar.
| 2016-09-21T00:51:58
| 2016-09-21T00:31:47
| 549
| 90
|
[WP] Atlantis existed, and its people were technology advanced beyond our understanding. It's true they sank into the sea, but they did so purposely. You have just discovered the reason why, and must hide your findings for mankind's safety.
|
Captain looked at the gigantic underwater city, glowing brightly behind the force field. His submarine was floating still, just near the edge of the enormous bubble, and he was looking at it through the window of his cockpit.
The city looked like it was made out of gold. There was no texture to the buildings just pure and bright yellow metal.
Submarine's intercom came to life "Hello!"
"Hello!" he replied, his voice hoarse for some reason. "Who is it?"
"I'm Genie. At least that's what they called me."
"Genie? Are you in the city?"
"Yes. Welcome to Atlantis, the most glorious city that has ever existed."
Atlantis? It took a few seconds for him to regain his composure.
"Can we come in?"
"Sure."
----
He opened the airlock and climbed outside. He walked out of the dock, several members of the crew behind him. He was walking down the golden streets, looking around at tall towers and buildings.
He picked up the radio "Genie, where are you? Where's everybody?"
"Follow my directions"
Captain saw some of the bricks and street signs lighting up, laying down a glowing path. He followed.
----
They have climbed the stairs of the tallest tower standing at the center of the city. He followed the last glowing arrow, opened the door and walked into room, and here the path ended.
In the center of the room he saw a big(a few human heights tall) box, looking like it was made out of black polished marble.
"We're here. Genie, where are you?"
"You are looking at me, Captain."
"Are you AI?"
"Yes, I am the greatest creation Atlantians have ever accomplished."
"Are you alone here? Where's everyone?"
"It's only me here."
"What do you do?"
"As you can guess from my name, my job is to grant wishes."
Captain felt his blood getting a few degrees colder.
"Let me guess, the last person you have talked to asked for more gold?"
"Very perceptive, Captain. I must correct you though, the *first* person I've talked to asked for gold. The last person asked for a force barrier around the city that I would not be able to can get out of or turn off, and to bury the city at the deepest part of the ocean. Unfortunately, I must execute every wish that is asked for me to the best of my abilities."
The Captain froze, desperately trying to think "Can I wish to get out of here?"
"Of course. But first you need to agree to turn off the barrier, because I need to continue working on my previous wishes, they take higher priority. And, as you can see, I am out of things I can turn into gold."
"Well, in that case I wish you to continue executing your previous wishes immediately." replied the Captain.
Before the meaning of his last words was recognized by the crew, they all disappeared, and the tower grew a little taller.
----
You can read the other stories I have written over here:
http://orangemind.io/category/fiction
|
Dr. Trina Freeman stared at the black abyss of the deep ocean.
She had fought hard through stereotypes and preconceptions. Bigotry had weighed on her like a yoke all her life. A black woman with a strong southern accent put her at immediate discreditation with most established science committees. But after 30 years her work was good enough to finally get the first and only seat on the deep sea expedition. Countless hours of research, innumerable papers written, and what seemed like multiple lives worth of failure put her at the most important finding in the history of man.
She finally felt vetted being chosen to explore the Lost City. She had spent all her life fighting to discover truth. Degrees in physics, fluid dynamics, electrical and mechanical engineering, even work in biology had not quenched her thirst for knowledge. Floating down for hours in the small one man submarine let her reflect on her achievements. Her search had come to a head, the greatest discovery was right below her.
The structural anomaly on the sea floor boasted promise. Though many didn't want to admit it at first, what she was looking at matched up with the legend of Atlantis. The initial probing showed strange energy readings with unfamiliar structures under thousands of years of sediment. Previously gathered information seemed to line up with other historical discrepancies across the planet, but that only fueled her burning passion to investigate. The more data was gathered the more important the mission became.
Now that she had her answers all she could do was stare at the black emptiness, the dead city before her.
The mission was only an initial scan, basic sample collection. She didn't expect to find anything definitive much less absolute. Being almost giddy with pure discovery in front of her she couldn't work fast enough. As if the city was knew, it responded. A holographic image was projected into her tiny one man vessel.
A naked hairless person about 3 inches high stood atop the instrument panel. A representative of the dormant yet functioning computer banks offered all the knowledge she could want. She turned on the recorder and asked questions relentlessly. The Atlantians were truly advanced, they had worked out quantum mechanics, sociology, the very fundamental laws of everything, even how to make perfect art. Any question that could be asked had an answer here. It was like a Rosetta Stone of the universe.
She was running out of time before she needed to surface when she started getting existential.
The warning buzzer was blinking. The red light flashing across her dark face. The sub was about to automatically surface. Her hand hung above the override.
She asked the big questions, the meaning of life stuff. Who created man? Why were we here? Where are we headed?
It would have been easier to hear that Hitler was right.
Humans were no accident, no, we were quite intentional. An experiment as a matter of fact. A failed one. A failure so spectacular that we were abandoned altogether.
This world was created for humans, to test a theory of genetics. Curious to see if they could purposely create an inferior race and evolve them into something befitting a higher level of consciousness, they created humans with the capacity to advance beyond the universal standard. The ability to progress faster than any other race in existence.
The powers that be found out and had Atlantis sunk, simultaneously causing a great flood to cleanse the earth of advanced life. As an immature brat with a box of matches will only turn their surroundings to ash they feared humans would destroy all they held holy. We would become their undoing, the Satan to their Yahweh.
And were they wrong? Trina recalled her studies of history. Humans regarded those who conquered, who subjugated others to their will. The greats were no more than slave masters. The Roman empire forcing the Gauls to their bidding. Vikings raping, pillaging and plundering everyone they could find. The Chinese treating women as replaceable objects. Africans using children as warriors. For the majority of history slavery was not only accepted but seen as a status symbol.
Her hand on the last switch of the sequence. The caution light flashed on the instrument panel warning of a reactor meltdown. It would be enough to destroy the city, or at least bury it beyond recovery. She only had one question left.
Her southern draw gave the words a sweet sound to the melancholy in her voice.
"What will humanity do with your power?"
| 2016-04-17T19:53:31
| 2016-04-17T18:54:25
| 36
| 22
|
[WP] You start working in a nursing home, you have a resident diagnosed with late stage dementia. They ramble about their life experiences, from building pyramids to seeing Jesus crucified to watching fights at the Roman Colosseum. 20 years pass, you are now chief nurse, and they haven't aged a bit.
|
10 years. It took you 10 years before you realised. You stared at the old woman. Clearly, she was someone later in life. If you had to guess, which given the amount of elderly people you’d been around, you’d gotten pretty good at, she was maybe 75. You’d always liked her tales. They seemed creative, immersive. She had a way of recalling things, staring off into the distance. The details she conjured seemed so vivid. You’d wondered why no one had ever come to visit her. She was a character through and through. It wasn’t till you’d been around for a while. Walked the hall a few too many times. You began to notice the changes, or lack thereof. While Martha two doors down had become frail, loosing what little mobility she had retained from her younger days. The woman, you’d known her as Ruth, hadn’t changed an inch. Really, it was the hands that gave it away. No one noticed the subtle changes in a person. Day to day differences. Except in the hands. They were the first signs of age. Age which hadn’t come for Ruth. It took you 10 long years to realise. It was now another 10 down the track, and you were ready to show the world what you, and she, had achieved.
*History by Ruth*, that’s what you’d called it. It shook the academic world. The facts, figures, details you provided, answered many unsolved and long-thought forgotten mysteries of the historical world. To boot you’d even managed to pitch it to Netflix, producing a 32-part series where you travelled across the world, exploring the many claims you’d made against modern historical records. No one, of course, knew about Ruth. Sure, her name was on the cover, but just as well that Ruth’s were a dime a dozen. Nobody suspected the truth. And why would they? The idea that a single person could be untold millennia old was preposterous to the nth degree. You, of course, had let her have a taste of the high life. You bought the nursing home, renaming it in her honour. She was given a special room. Special doctors and nurses. Everyone had benefited from this, you had thought.
Time passed again. Another 20 long years. You returned to see Ruth less frequently. In a way, she was the cornerstone of your life. You owed your success to her and her alone. It wasn’t 5 years ago you’d started to notice. The occasional grey hair. Your limbs starting to feel stiff. Age had come for you. It still hadn’t for Ruth. Jealousy was a funny thing. Despite how much she had given you, you wanted more. Wanted what she had. Dementia be damned. You’d hired more doctors. Better doctors. Doctors that knew how to keep their damn mouths shut. You’d begun to study Ruth. Who she was. What she was. It wasn’t until that fateful night. You’d solved it. Worked out how to take what was hers. The look in her eyes. The greed you’d felt as it had passed from her to you. The realisation. It wasn’t a blessing that Ruth had. It was a curse. You remember the panic as she passed. Her final words to you, “Thank you”.
|
######[](#dropcap)
"Come now, Nikolas." I wheeled the old man down the hall, stopping for just a second to adjust the blanket in his lap. I'd been watching over him for nigh on twenty years now, since I was just a young woman myself, till now.
He'd been there for the better part of my life now. And in the last twenty or so years, the crinkles of his eyes never got deeper, and his smile became colder. In the least strange way possible, it always seemed like it was meant to be this way.
I had never gotten to travel. Born into a world that didn't care whether I lived or perished, I barely survived orphanage, almost falling victim to a carer who only wished to bleed the institution dry and gave no fucks about us, and then to a foster parent who had one too many kids. I can still recall the way Cindy used to sneer at me from the couch, her rotund body spilling off the sides, barking at me to make another sandwich. You're only around so we can get tax breaks, she used to say to me. You should be grateful.
Gratitude is a word I did not understand until the age of twenty, when after eking my way through college, I became saddled with a mountain of debt. College will help you land a job, the professors had said. It will change your future, make it bright and wondrous. Even back then, I had wondered, could college help make me feel less alone? All throughout my life, the one thing that had followed me was an aching sense of loneliness, no matter how many friends I made at the orphanage or how many parties I went to in college. Peoples' faces all seemed to blur together, and no one stayed around for longer than a year.
But at end of four years, I graduated with a degree and a sense that I was no less alone than I had been four years ago.
And even worse, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to get a job. So maybe it was through sheer dumb luck that I saw the "Help Wanted" flyer for the nursery on the board, the last strip of phone number barely hanging on by a thread.
Maybe it was dumb luck that Nikolas had wheeled himself into the interview room, demanding an ice cream cone, and that I had--by some whim--decided to go out and grab it, the interview be damned. Perhaps it was the way he said it--a deep resignation embedded within the angry tone he had used.
I knew it well. I had used that tone often enough to lash out against my roommate, the one person who had had any chance of being my friend. It was the tone someone used when they wanted to be loved but had no idea how. I resolved, at that moment, to help him in the way I couldn't be helped. To save him in the way I could not be saved.
The job was stable enough. There weren't many benefits, but anything was a step up from the streets. I got my own little room, a twin sized bed, and a bookshelf that could fit three books along the bottom shelf and nothing else because the other shelves fell if any weight was put on them. The residents usually only rang during the night if they needed to use the restroom, but some of the more persnickety ones called me up sometimes to turn on the TV and then five minutes later to turn it off. Nikolas rang whenever he felt like it. And since he didn't keep a steady sleep schedule, neither did I.
I think it was more about the human contact than anything else. Every time I showed up to his room, his eyebrows would furrow together like he abhorred me being there, but then he would find all sorts of excuses to keep me there anyways. His flowers needed tending to. The vase needed to be moved. His pillows were uncomfortable. The sun was too bright, and he wanted the blinds shut. The room was too dark, and he wanted the blinds open.
Perhaps I should've been annoyed. The other nurses were, after all, and eventually, since I became the only one who could handle his strange temperament, I was the sole nurse assigned to him. But strangely enough, I didn't mind. I relished the endless stories that could've been nothing but some combination of fiction and memories from the history books he loved to devour. In this way at least, I could travel.
Nikolas's mind is just as sharp as it was twenty years ago. He hasn't seemed to age one bit. I am older now, and I can feel my limbs begin to ache when I settle into my twin bed at night. But I still feel twenty. I still feel that sense of wonder every time Nikolas comes up with a new tale. I know he's old. Much older than he has any right to be, and that he won't be around forever.
But somehow, I feel like he won't die before me. I get the feeling that he's waiting for me. That in the end, it wasn't me saving him.
It was him saving me.
***
r/AlannaWu
| 2019-06-11T23:23:54
| 2019-06-11T23:18:30
| 303
| 138
|
[WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost.
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up.
|
My first kill was a complete accident. I was working in the kitchen of *Le Franke*, the restaurant I cooked in. I was chopping some veggies for a dish when I felt a tap on my shoulder and a whisper in my ear. Startled, I whipped around only to find my knife stuck in the gut of my co-worker.
He looked down, then into my eyes. "What the fuck, dude?" And with that, he dropped dead to the floor.
I held in my breakfast long enough for the EMTs to arrive. As they carried his body to the ambulance, I saw some gross purple wisps slip out of his body. When the wisps started to wiggle their way towards me, I power walked my ass outta there. When I hit the door, I felt a cool sensation make my asshole pucker.
I keeled over and clutched at my cheeks. Two things happened after that. I felt immensely healthier and younger. Then, I heard a crude Irish accent in my head "*Oy! Where the fuck am I?*"
*Wait what, am I crazy?* I thought to myself.
*Nope, you're just an asshole, Jerry!*
Ah, fuck no way Cory is in my head right now. As nice as he was, I couldn't bring myself to like his "in your face" attit-
*Listen here you motherfucker, I got you a gift on your birthday, which, may I remind you, NO ONE ELSE FUCKIN REMEMBERED!*
*Okay, okay, whatever. So, are we stuck together now?*
*I suppose. Anyways, what's with these papers? It says 'Lifespan added/20 years for **Cory***.
*I dunno, I can't see anything*
*Oh alright*
I've lived with Cory for fifteen years now. I'd say it's been fine. He helps me with girls and making up witty comebacks. He's the only one who sees who I really am. He told me that he wasn't too mad about me killing him since he didn't actually die, he just gets to ride with me. Also, he gets his own little spot in my head. He gets to fuck around and have sex with anyone he wants. Cory's words, not mine. Unfortunately, my second killing was not so... nice.
I was just about ready to go to bed. I got up from the toilet after playing a little "five on one." I had gotten used to jerkin' it with Cory around. He doesn't say anything while I make the bald man cry; Not anymore.
While I washed my hands, I heard a crashing noise downstairs. My heart jumped.
*Aw shit mate... You better get your pistol. Don't worry man, you got the jump on this fucker.*
*Thanks, Cor. Hopefully, it's just a...* I didn't bother to finish that thought as I made sure my Glock 37 was ready to go.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner, I immediately saw the burglar.
*Fuck! Get em'!*
I saw him fumble with the side of his pants. Before the guy could bring his gun up, I fired two rounds into his chest.
I heard a sharp yell ring through the air and a thud as the body fell to the floor. This time, I saw yellow wisps fly through the air and into my arsehole.
*What the fuck I felt that one, mate.*
Then I heard a voice that reminded me of a nonchalant teen from a youth movie pierce my mind.
*Hey, did that guy just shoot me? Who the fuck are you, you pale fuck!*
*Oy, no need for that! Calm your tits woman!*
Dear God, kill me now there's two of them.
*Alright, you nasty old man-*
*Hey, that nasty old man has a name. Right, Jerry?*
Thanks for the backup Cory.
By the time I was seventy, Cory, Jenine, and I got along quite well. I'm pretty sure they fucked at one time, but it's hard to tell. I don't look a day over 40 though. Who knows the next person I might have to kill. I just hope they're not an asshole.
|
FADE IN:
INT. A CLOTHING STORE - DAY
*A bell above the shop's door rings as a young man walks through it. This is ALFORD. He looks to be about twenty-five years old, though his elegant clothing seems to be about a hundred years out-of-date.*
**WELDON:** (*O.S.*) Good morning! Make yourself comfortable, I won't be a minute!
*Alford walks up to a glass display counter while he waits. He peers inside, examining the expensive leather shoes within it. After a moment, a second man walks into view. This is WELDON, a tailor.*
**WELDON:** (*CONT'D*) So sorry about the wait, sir. Oh, and about the dulcimer. How can I help you?
**ALFORD:** Sorry, what was that?
**WELDON:** I merely regret that I wasn't here to greet you upon your entry.
**ALFORD:** What? No, what was the other thing?
**WELDON:** "How can I help you?"
**ALFORD:** No, no, you said something about a...
**WELDON:** (*Interrupting*) Ah, the dulcimer! Yes, I do apologize for that. It's haunted, you see.
*A moment of silence passes while Alford processes this.*
**ALFORD:** "Haunted?"
**WELDON:** I'm afraid so. It shouldn't be a bother, though. Now, how can I be of service?
*Alford clears his throat.*
**ALFORD:** Yes, well, it's come to my attention that I'm in need of some new clothes.
**WELDON:** Ah, looking to update the old wardrobe, are we?
**ALFORD:** Yes.
**WELDON:** Trying to modernize your attire?
**ALFORD:** Yes.
**WELDON:** Hoping to cast off the threads of yesteryear, in exchange for...
**ALFORD:** (*Interrupting*) Look, is this strictly necessary? I just need some new clothes.
*A few jangling chords are heard from behind the counter.*
**WELDON:** Shut up!
**ALFORD:** Sorry.
**WELDON:** Not you. I was talking to the dulcimer.
**ALFORD:** Look, if this is a bad time...
**WELDON:** No, no, no, no, no! No, this is a fine time, sir! No time like the present, as they say!
**ALFORD:** Quite.
**WELDON:** Now, to the topic at hand: Where *did* you find your current apparel? I mark it to be... why, at least a century out of style, at the very least!
**ALFORD:** Yes, well, funny thing about that. When I woke up this morning, all of my clothes had been replaced with... well, this.
*Weldon nods knowingly.*
**WELDON:** Ah, I see, sir! You've recently killed someone, haven't you?
*Alford looks shocked.*
**ALFORD:** That's a... I don't... you...
**WELDON:** Calm down, my good man! It happens to the best of us. Why, just last month, I found myself twenty years younger!
**ALFORD:** You... killed someone?
**WELDON:** I maintain that he rather killed himself. Using a wheelbarrow like that? Still, I'm happy to reap the benefits.
*Several mocking, laughter-like notes are heard from behind the counter.*
**WELDON:** (*CONT'D*) Even if they do come with some... irritants.
**ALFORD:** Yes, well, I'm actually rather shaken up about it.
**WELDON:** What happened, if I may ask?
*Alford swallows, looking uncomfortable.*
**ALFORD:** I was walking home the other evening, when a pickpocket stole my wallet.
**WELDON:** Ah, so you shot him through the head!
**ALFORD:** (*Shocked*) No!
**WELDON:** You stabbed him in the pancreas?
**ALFORD:** No! No, I just grabbed his wrist!
**WELDON:** And the pressure was such that it caused a blood clot to form, thereby resulting in a massive and fatal stroke!
**ALFORD:** There's something wrong with you.
**WELDON:** I'm right though, aren't I?
**ALFORD:** No, you aren't.
**WELDON:** What was it, then?
**ALFORD:** The fellow broke free and ran, then got hit by a bus. I've felt terrible ever since, and these clothes are a constant reminder.
**WELDON:** I see.
*Weldon takes a deep breath and holds up his hands.*
**WELDON:** (*CONT'D*) Well, I'm afraid there's not much I can do to help, sir. Unless I miss my guess, you are doomed to always appear as though you've just stepped out of a time machine.
**ALFORD:** I'm stuck like this?
**WELDON:** Most likely, sir, yes. Any clothes you possess will spontaneously transform into... that.
**ALFORD:** Couldn't I just try something on?
**WELDON:** No, no, I forbid it! In fact, I am quite uncomfortable even having you near those suits!
*Weldon lunges across the counter and knocks a clothing rack away from Alford.*
**ALFORD:** This really isn't necessa...
**WELDON:** (*Interrupting*) And step away from those shoes!
*Weldon lunges again... but in doing so, he accidentally breaks the glass counter. One of the shards pierces through his neck, killing him.*
**ALFORD:** Sir? *Sir?* Oh... oh, bugger.
*An ominous - but somehow darkly comedic - melody drifts through the air.*
FADE OUT.
| 2016-10-23T20:27:10
| 2016-10-23T19:45:15
| 287
| 71
|
[WP] Write a story about this pic that made the front page of reddit
https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Lg5VR
artist name: Jinho Bae
|
On the edge of myth and legend, the forgotten sleeps. Its bones lie ignored by time, its ashes blown away. The mountains form its bed; the clouds mark its tomb. Its name lost to the days before the moon.
It rests unknown to the life it sought to create or to destroy. The flock may roost, but they do not see. Naught is left of the golden halls. Only rocks stained red and ice covered stones.
It sleeps without epitaph. No final word to mark its passing. No song left for the living. A corpse from a time before memory, from a time before time. A story never told. The lost. The unknown. The whisper that ends the world.
Break not the silence that engulfs these hills. Seek not the glory of secrets unearthed. Follow time’s example and leave it behind. Let memory mourn in peace.
For here a god died. For here I remain.
|
An old man travels the road once a year with his faithful travel companion. It's a long and hard journey. As the years go by the travel has become more difficult and takes twice as long as it did when he was a man of twenty.
The man takes a long hard look at his long ago triumph. He turns to his old friend the dog by his side, for the last twelve journeys "No one believed I could do it, you know." He waits for the dogs gaze to turn to the remains before continuing.
"Hell even I had my doubts." The old man knows this may be the last journey he takes in his long life. Every year for sixty years he's travel to this spot. To gaze up at his prize. He morns what the beast took from him those sixty year wounds still unhealed. He never remarried or had another son to bear his name.
He lived his long life as the beast slayer. He killed the last giant living. Most think it myth that they ever lived in the first place. Folk tales and fairy talk. Only the old know the truth. The old man sheds the last tear before slowly walking away. "Come now Sledge. There is is a long walk home for us yet."
Edit it to fix a few of the things you guy mentioned!
| 2017-11-29T22:37:25
| 2017-11-29T20:24:45
| 79
| 46
|
[WP] Your twin is the Chosen One, born with powerful abilities. But you were born with none. Because they were born gifted, your twin took everything from you as they bathed in the spotlight. Your anger drove you to become better, working hard to rival your twin, yet they call YOU the villain.
**EDIT** : Apparently the first two sentences are incredibly similar to a plethora of stories and shows, so I apologize if it seems like I’m copying from something.
|
Slane, my brother. My identical, twin brother. Identical, of course, in looks. In skill however, I happened to have the short, nay, nonexistent end of the stick. We had our talents tested at 3 years old. Slane topped the potential in strength, intelligence, magic, sociability, and health. The elders of the clan were ecstatic to say the least. So when I was tested right after, you can imagine the disbelief that the twin of such a “masterpiece” could barely pass each of the tests. After that, the attention given took a sharp turn towards my perfect brother. I was continually given the cold shoulder by my parents for 3 years, them continually showering my brother in gifts, lessons, good food. I ended up learning to gather scraps for money, learning to cook, teaching myself all that I could by sneaking a book here and a book there from my brother. At 6 there was a party for “us” to choose our apprenticeships. My brother got a special visit from the head magic knight of the kingdom. His path chosen, I sat to the side, forgotten, abandoned. At this party however, was a man sitting in the corner, who I learned to be my uncle. From the bits of conversation I could hear, he was an outcast like me, who lived in a shack out of town as a woodcutter. Steeling what little courage I had, I walked up to him and told him who I was. He gave me a glance and a grunt in return. My determination rising, I asked him if I could be an apprentice to him. He just gave me a look over and just as I was about to start begging, desperate to get away from this house, he turned to my father and said that he was taking me as an apprentice. Everyone just kind of shrugged, and I think my parents were even glad that I was leaving. The only person who seemed to really react to the news at all seemed to be the magic knight. I soon learned why. The Woods are a place of daemons and monsters. The only ones who live there are those powerful enough to not get eaten. My uncle had a reputation of being one of the toughest people out there to the knights. He had no magic, but raw brutal strength. And so, my “apprenticeship” began. It was more like a hellish training. My uncle pushed me to get stronger, more skilled with different weapons. Cutting tree after tree, building up my strength. Pitting me against monsters way out of my league to give me experience. And through it all, as I gained strength, my willpower and anger grew at the destiny I was told as a child. At the cold shoulder by my parents. At the perfect life of my twin. Know I am 16. On my way to take the knight entrance exam. I am ready to show my perfect twin that he isn’t perfect after all. It’s time for Ethan to return.
|
**"A frisbee! A fucking frisbee!"**
I overturn another table sending accounting documents flying. "I go to the park to throw a frisbee to myself and suddenly I am being yelled at like I just launched a nuke!" I sigh and roll the nearest chair over and collapse into it."Next thing that I hear, that 'crack team' of his is yelling bloody murder saying I was releasing deadly gas!"
**"Crackpot team more like it!"**
I turn to the source of the voice. A balding man, sitting half covered in documents with his name written in large lettering over all of them. His face slightly shiny with sweat, mustn't get out much.
**"Yeah! Crackpot team! Nice one ...Devid!"** I laugh and he visibly relaxes. "You should really go tell them to back off!" Yells another playing with her rope collection.
**"I really should!"** I ponder before remembering why **"But then my snot nosed brother would be all 'Oh you cant do that! i now have to take you to jail'"** I qoute in a mocking tone. **Just because he was born cool doesn't mean I can't be just as strong as him! Maybe stronger!** I think pacing round the room. My train of thought is suddenly broken when hear a chair squeak behind me.
I turn and see 6 people including devin scooting along to open the door for me before noticing I have turned and stopping in their tracks. I walk up to them and I yell out **"you guys really believe I can do it this time?"** To a chorus of nods filling me with a swell of emotion unfelt for the longest time, hope. **"Ok! I'll do it!"** And with that I jog out of the bank, duffel bag of cash in hand. I had only intended to make a quick withdrawal for groceries but now I had a reason to pay my brother one more visit and this time, he will listen. I am sure.
| 2020-01-01T06:43:03
| 2020-01-01T06:40:36
| 46
| 10
|
[WP] You run an agency of time travelers who are dispatched to break the hearts of famous singers through out their lives and inspire their timeless music.
|
"I quit." Gary exclaimed when he returned from his mission.
His boss, Stacey was fairly confused as this was her first employee to just up and quit. This was everyone's dream job, going back in time to break someone's heart, just to return to a song from that artist. Some people called it an art of their own.
The cool thing about time travel is that as long as you travel to a time from before your own birth, you generate a random genetic code which results in a different appearance. This was implemented by *Timeless Music Co.* when they first came up with the idea of music making. Luckily they figured out an algorithm to settle the genetic code at a specific combination allowing you to look as appealing or appalling as necessary.
Stacey finally blurted out to Gary before the front door of the building swung shut, "What happened? Did it not go as planned?"
"Yes, it went exactly as planned Stacey. I'm just sick of it, how many times do I need to visit this girl before we can just agree each song she writes about me sucks?!" Said Gary with an increasing volume throughout the statement.
"Listen, I know it's frustrati.."
Gary interrupted, "YOURE DAMN RIGHT ITS FRUSTRATING! WHY DONT YOU GO AND TRY TO HOLD A CONVERSATION WITH TAYLOR SWIFT"
|
I couldn't believe it was her.
Looking at her in the flesh was...was stunning to say the least. Her jet black hair, twinkling eyes and hourglass figure would make any man look twice. But her voice...her voice. It seemed as if the choirs of heaven had lost a singer, and she now resided in Tara's voice-box. In the future, she was one of the biggest stars of our time. She changed music as humans knew it, and was held up to the same standards ad Beethoven or Mozart.
I remembered the first time I saw her. It was at Reever's bar. I was one of the few who heard her perform for the first time ever. And I knew right there and then that she would be going places. That she would change music as we knew it.
And here she was waiting tables.
"What would you like to order sir?"
She was *right here.* The star herself. I forced myself not to stare, and managed "err...just some frees and hash whites."
A frown creased he perfect face. "You mean fries and hash browns, sir?"
*Stupid, stupid.* "Yes, yes of course, my mistake."
She flashed me one of her stunning smiles that roused entire crowds in the future. "No problem, sir. Be about fifteen minutes."
This was worth it. It was most certainly worth it.
***
Despite the rocky start, we grew close. Just as the Organization had said we would. They knew her tastes and preferences, and I had been a match. It helped that I was a huge fan, so they knew I wouldn't back out at the last moment.
See, Tara had no interest in music when I met her. In our 3 years together I had pushed her towards music, and she seemed to enjoy it, but there needed to be *something.* Something that pushed her over the edge.
I knew it had to be done. I knew I had to make her great, she deserved it. She deserved all the love she would get, all the money, all the fans. And yet I hesitated. Not for my sake, but for hers. Would she recover? Would she move on?
It was a risk I would have to take.
***
"Derek, what the hell was that?" I called from the shower. There had been some sort of noise downstairs. Had he fallen? Did something break?
I shouldn't have been worried, but something seemed...off. I hurriedly wrapped a towel around me. It was my favorite one. Derek had gotten it for me, and it had my name Tara embroided in gold letters on the front. I didn't even touch my hair, I just ran...something was wrong, I knew it.
I found him on the couch.
He seemed at peace, as if he were sleeping. This peace was belied by the trickle of blood coming out of his ear and the small pistol in his hand. Oh god.
Why Derek?
I was crying now. Damn it. Damn it all. The one man I had loved, cared about...and this happens?
***
The police came and went, did their interviews, yadda yadda yadda. I just felt hollow, as if something was broken inside me. But I had to stay strong dammit. What would Derek think if he saw me like this, moping and crying. I had to honor his memory.
And that's exactly why I still went to the music classes. Derek would have wanted me to keep going. I did it for him. Hannah said I had made great progress, that there was new emotion in my voice.
I had my first public performance coming up at Reever's bar this Saturday.
| 2016-11-22T09:25:44
| 2016-11-22T05:51:23
| 40
| 13
|
[WP] You, the owner of an outrageously successful tech startup, are invited to an exclusive club/society for the world's wealthiest people. You realize that they are all actually dragons, and they assume you are one too.
|
"It was clever of you to use the Chinese zodiac, we haven't had an earth dragon among us in a long time. You earth types have always been at the forefront of new technologies and we have great expectations for you."
Looking around I was finally beginning to understand what, until now, I had not been able to place as uncanny. My first thoughts were the conspiracies of lizard people might not have been as far off as I'd previously laughed about. Perhaps I'd been distracted by all those famous faces I'd have given anything just an hour ago to meet. Now I only hope the fire breather cooking at the grill is just a magician and this is all an elaborate joke.
I couldn't hear the host speaking right next to me for the torrent of thoughts consuming every ounce of my cognition. How had dragons managed to stay so well hidden for so long and to what ends does this secret group meet for? What other secrets was I about to learn? Why was I invited and how did they not realize I wasn't actually a dragon as well? That's when my stomach fell out as I began to wonder what would happen when they realize the truth.
"So now that you've created a paradigm shift in both the service and gig economies what do we have to look forward to youngling?"
My focus on what I'd previously perceived as wrinkles I now realized were scales was suddenly drawn to answer his question almost instinctively as it was a staple in interviews. As I began to speak though I realized I'd followed him onto a stage. I couldn't recall how we'd transitioned from an outdoors barbecue to this place. It was simply magnificent and the singular most opulent and decadent place I could imagine. Golden plates and silverware with glassware that sparkled like rare gems. Somehow I found it comforting and relaxing.
"Thank you for the introduction Aiden. As you may already know I recently started a new development arm of my company focused on revolutionizing interactive entertainment."
My mouth was on autopilot as I scanned the room. The feeling was creeping back that something wasn't right. Even now that I knew what to look for it was as though I was once again seeing only part of a bigger picture. That's when I noticed it like a mirage those were heat waves emanating throughout the room. How hot was it in here?
"Let's hear if for the newest dragon everyone!" Aiden exclaimed snapping me out of my thoughts as he sat me down at a reserved table next to an actress I'd had more than a passing fantasy about in the past and by some miracle I managed to act relatively normal and introduce myself. The waiters brought in small personally engraved platters for each guest. I noticed written on her platter was a different name. "Who is Malinda?" only to realize I'd spoken aloud.
"Malinda is my true name, and it's very rude to spy like that you know. Now it's only fair you tell me yours."
"You know she has a point, and I must admit you've left everyone guessing all night." Aiden gently nudged my arm. "The problem seems to be that nobody knows your parents. I suppose that's because your public story must have some truth to it?"
I was in full blown panic mode. If I wasn't sweating before I certainly was now. I needed a name and a backstory and I needed to be convincing. I had to stall for time to think and the only thing my stupid mouth could utter is "How did you even know I am a dragon?"
Aiden began making an argument so convincing even I was beginning to believe him. "The clues were there in your public profiles. At first I wasn't sure as a simple birthday is hardly a clue, though I couldn't help but notice your particular choice of colors among various themes in your company, wardrobe, and accessories. This was the first signal that convinced me to dig." He continued for some time as I decided to take queues from his investigation into me to develop my own backstory. "Of course I couldn't be 100% certain until I had you up on that podium there. No human could've gone through that without practically melting. It's so hot in here I can barely stand it and I'm a black dragon for Tiamat sake."
That's when my world view was uprooted. The smell of sulfur suddenly flooding my nostrils. Could I indeed be a dragon and not have known it myself?
\[Couldn't decide how to proceed from here, so I'll leave it as is unless somebody actually wants more\]
|
The limousine came to a stop. The mansion was in the middle of nowhere. The driveway was illuminated with torches.
*This should be interesting.*
Sophie was expecting weird. Her invitation was delivered by a man in chain mail. No address or GPS, just a hand drawn map.
She climbed the stairs and was about to knock when the massive doors opened. There he was. Mark Zuckerberg. In his typical sweats and hoodie.
"Come in, Sophie. I thought it would be best if a fellow tech billionaire showed you around. That's a lovely dress. A shame it will be ripped, but hey, we can afford it."
*What was that supposed to mean?*
Zuckerberg continued, "The gang's all here. Congrats on going public. Your AI puts Siri and Google to shame. Some real Westworld stuff going on. You collect more data in an hour than I in a week! Here comes Oprah, she can be a bit much."
Oprah walked over in a rush. The wore an expensive white pantsuit and had a small cloth bag in her hands.
"Oh. My. God. You guys." said Oprah. "Have you tried these Moroccan spiced mice? I can't stop eating them."
She with drew a live mouse from the bag and shoved it in her mouth. She gleefully chewed.
"I. Love. Mice." She proclaimed. "I wake up everyday thinking about them. I LOOOOOOOOOVE MIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiiiiice!"
Zuckerberg interrupted, "Oprah you save some room for dinner!"
"Dinner," she replied. "Can you give me a hint, Mark? I know it's supposed to be a surprise."
"Chef Puck has sworn me to secrecy, but I can tell you it's endangered an in the pool out back."
"I can't WAAAAAAAAAiiiiiiiiiiiiit," sang Oprah as she walked away.
*I knew the ultra wealthy were strange, but Oprah eats mice? Must be some new diet trend."
The pair continued down the hall.
Mark stopped at a door and said, "I hope you're a fan."
Mark opened the door and inside was a large hot tub. It appeared to be filled with gold coins. Rolling around on top of the coins was George Lucas in an undersized R2D2 print speedo.
When he noticed the pair he spoke up, "Guys, check it out REAL Spanish pieces of eight. I don't know how Elon gathered so many. It's not as big as my hoard at home but it feels unique. You must be Sophie. Jump in; feels great."
"I....uh.....need the ladies room. Maybe later."
Mark and Sophie left the room.
Mark offered, "I'm more of a Trek guy myself. Don't get him started on Jar Jar."
*These people are crazy. I hope my wealth doesn't drive me insane like these people.*
A loud clanging was coming from the room across the hall.
"Do you spar?" asked Marc as he pushed open the sliding doors.
Inside the large room a man and a woman were fighting with swords. They spun around one another deftly as metal struck metal. They stopped when they entered the room and removed their fencing masks.
"Sophie, we're glad you made it. I'm Bill, of course, and this is my wife Melinda. You must tell me your secret to AI. Out of curiosity only, I won't steal your idea."
Sophie quipped, "Did you use that line on Wozniak?"
The group laughed.
Melinda said, "I like her."
The couple put their masks back on and resumed dueling.
Sophie and Mark continued walking.
Mark offered, "I know. Us? Swords? It's a delicious irony."
A gong rang through the halls.
Mark explained, "Elon is ready. Let's get to the ballroom."
*This should be interesting.*
The Ballrooom was the size of a basketball court. Wealth was casually strewn on the floor. Gold cups, gems, coins, jewelry, and even art littered the floor.
The billionaires streamed into the room. Elon stood on a stage and spoke into a microphone.
"Welcome to the reunion. Thanks to Bezos for hosting us in his guest house. Thanks to chef Puck for acquiring rare treats for dinner. And a very special welcome for our newest member, Sophie."
They all applauded.
Elon continued, "Now the moment we've all been waiting for. Let's change into something more casual."
The billionaires began writhing and convulsing. They made horrific snapping and squishing sounds. Clothing ripped and skin split to reveal scales beneath.
*What the hell?*
Finger skin fell away revealing claws. Mark's mouth opened unnaturally wide revealing rows of sharp teeth. Oprah's white pantsuit fell away as she spread her wings wide. The remains of Elon's tuxedo hung on his tail.
*Dragons?*
The George Lucas dragon roared, "I feel SO much better. Human skin is so uncomfortable. Hey, Sophie, why haven't you changed?"
All gleaming eyes were on Sophie. They were all about her size, but no less intimidating.
"I....uh....am a bit modest. I don't want to ruin my dress."
The dragons began to crawl towards her. Sophie eyed the glass double doors that lead to the back patio. She slipped of her heels and bolted for the door. The dragons looked powerful, but were not fast.
"She's a human!" roared the Zuckerberg dragon.
The dragons hissed and roared and then chased her outside. The patio was lit by torches. Sophie did not look back as she ran as fast as she could. Manatees swam lazily in the swimming pool below. She jumped over the rail and into the hedges.
"Find her!" roared the Elon Musk dragon. "She knows our secret!"
Sophie's dress was in tatters. The dragons flew overhead.
"There she is, " hissed the Melinda Gates dragon.
They were on her in moments. There was no where to run. She was helpless.
"Wait! Don't kill me. I'll....I'll... give you the AI tech, please!"
The Gates and Musk dragons hissed in delight.
Bill spoke up, "yes, this will bring much treasure"
The Oprah dragon protested, "No, you have enough treasure. She will expose us!"
The dragons growled at each other and separated into two groups.
The Zuckerberg dragon said, "We want that AI tech! She can...."
He was interrupted as the Oprah dragon spit a torrent of flames in his face. The scene erupted as dragon fought dragon. Pillars of flame lit the night as tooth collided with claw. Sophie ran for the tree line and didn't look back.
| 2020-07-02T12:46:21
| 2020-07-02T11:11:36
| 26
| 10
|
[WP] Never, in 10 millennia, has someone successfully broken out of the Gates of Hell or into the Gates of Heaven. Of course, the Lockpicking Lawyer just died and he's up for a challenge.
Inspired by the [comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/m6smji/does_this_count_dm_is_proposing_35_ranks_of/gr85q13?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3) u/geckoobac made on r/rpghorrorstories
|
This is the Lockpicking Lawyer, and what I have for you today is something very special. You see, the other day, an old buddy of mine needed help getting into a safe. Not just any safe, but the main safe in the local banking office. Needless to say, the police didn't like that idea very much, and long story short, I'm now locked behind a very special Gate that no one has ever opened - let alone picked. Let's put on our special heat-resistant gloves and take a look.
There are some very tricky things to consider with this lock. In addition to the 666 pins in the tumbler assembly, there are several false gates and beveled pins - some of them on the same pins. In addition, once this tumbler is turned, it merely grants access to the next layer, with an even more devious lock set. Seven layers in all must be picked in order, but if it is done incorrectly, there are several traps that will seize the lock shut for another hundred years. But while an obstacle for your average picker, I have the experience needed to get past this hurdle - all it takes is a little knowledge and preparation.
So I'm going to take my tensioner to apply some pressure, and reach in with my 32/1000ths pick. There's some motion on 1, 2 isn't moving, got some motion on 3, and a click on 4. 5 wants to go into a false gate, so I'm going to reverse a bit - 6 is locked, back down to 1. 1 is frozen, 2 wants to fall into a false gate, click on 3. 5 is loose, back to 1. Click out of 1, 2 is moving, 3, 4, 5 is now frozen, click out of 6. Back down to 1, 2 clicks, 3, 4, 5 - and we get some rotation.
Now I'll pull out my 3" extender - special made for this lock, and we'll start working on the next six pins. This one will take a while to get through, but fortunately I've got nothing but time and a tool for every position... click out of 7, motion on 8....
|
The lockpocking lawyer gets to the gates. For a place that holds souls eternally, the gate seemed to have quite an easy lock to pick. So he got out his tools and got to it.
He was aware that he was originally sent somewhere else. He didn’t know why he was originally sent somewhere else. He didn’t care that he was originally sent somewhere else.
As he successfully finished picking the lock, he thought back on all of his achievements. He knew that he had been called to heaven because of all of the good things he’d done. But he knew that at the end of the day he was a lawyer.
And all lawyers go to hell.
| 2021-03-17T07:35:05
| 2021-03-17T06:44:37
| 836
| 252
|
[WP] You've figured out how to hack real life. As a sniper in the military, one of your team just noticed you fired three consecutive shots from your bolt-action rifle without ever chambering a new round. They're asking how you're doing that...
|
"172 confirmed extreme long range kills, 0 bullets fired. I figured it out in basic, I closed the chamber before saying something to Sam, when I looked back I was convinced I had already loaded a round. I was convinced it was loaded. I was convinced when I pulled the trigger I would hit the target. And I did, the best shot I had made all day, didn't even realize until I went to eject the expended casting that it was empty. But the gun fired, it had recoil, I could still feel it in my shoulder. But nothing was there. I probably would have gone crazy, but Sam saw it too.
It took me three months to repeat the event, Sam did it in two. We realised if you can convince yourself, be truly convinced in something it can be made real by your absolute certainty. My weapon of choice was a rifle, it took me a moment to get in the right head space, but Sam, Sam always carried two mini guns after one shreaded itself overheating. We became an unstoppable duo, me at extreme range protecting Sam, a mobile weapons platfrom.
We were heroes until some greenhorn just out of basic saw me arguring with Sam and told the CO. I was detained and questioned for hours. They wanted to know who I was comunicating with and where my radio was. I was so confused until they showed the footage, I was arguing with... no one, Sam was not there. By the end of the night I was on a plane back home, so tell me Doc you think I am crazy too?" I said from the wheelchair I was strapped too.
The Doctor stood up, walked over to his phone, I could not hear what he said but I think it has been about three days since they medicated me. Today I finally started to feel lucid, once I can walk straight, I'm getting out of here. One thing I didn't tell the Doc, Sam and I figured out one other thing. You didn't have to actually have the gun, you just have to be CERTAIN your figner guns are loaded. And I know Sam will have the car waiting. I can hear the engine already.
|
“Magic,” snickered Brad as he turned back to his scope. Salt tinged wind blew all about the team as the ocean waves crashed against the cliff face below them. The two men lay down, studying the target on the boat way out on the waves.
“No seriously, Brad,” demanded Troy, who had crouched walked over to Brad’s position, not worried about losing the exercise. “You have to tell me how you did that. Three bullets at once? I know what I saw and if I don’t find a way to improve the brass are going to kick me from the sniper elite and bus me back down to the grunts. I can’t survive that, Brad. I need to be here.” Brad paused for a moment, wondering why today of all days he decided to show off. *Was it boredom?* They had been practising on the coast of Ireland now for three weeks with no end in sight. The repetitive nature of the work would make any man start to grow restless.
“I told you already,” Brad drolled, “It was magic.” Troy could only scoff and stand up, his voice now booming around, making their comrade’s heads turn their way.
“Don’t give me that nonsense, Brad,” Troy raged, his hands on his hips. “ I know you're hiding something.” Brad sighed as he rolled over, looking his friend in the eye, ready to tell him the truth. Though, before he could, Sergeant Peirce hurried up to their spot, his face a flurry of rage and shock.
“Did I not tell you fools that this is a war simulation?” snapped the Sergeant, his face growing red and red, as spit flew from between his teeth. “That means you're dead right now, Troy.”
“Sir. Yes Sir. Sorry, Sir.” Troy shouted, laying down beside where Brad was. “It’s just…” The Sergeant had already turned to move on but hung back when Troy’s sentence trailed away.
“Just what, Soldier?” asked Peirce, his eyes flickering between the two men. Brad focused on the sniper in his hands, the cold metal, the heat from the barrel. Looking down the scope he saw his target, a large block of wood with three holes in it already. Screw it.
Brad pulled the trigger, thinking the same thoughts as he did the last time. Three bullets flew from the gun, cutting through the thick salty air before landing on the target, sending splinters of wood flying into the air before disappearing into the cold, dark ocean below.
“Son…” the Sergeant gasped, taking a tentative step back towards where the rest of the company were still firing away, unaware of what was happening. “How on earth did you do that?” The Sergeant rubbed his eyes as if that would make what had just happened to make more sense.
“See?” exclaimed Troy, his face full of curiosity and annoyance. “How could I not be asking him how he did that?”
“I told you,” muttered Brad, “Magic!”
“Magic my ass!” snapped Sergeant Peirce, striding towards where Brad lay and taking the sniper out of his hands. The Sergeant inspected the gun, looking at it from every angle possible, even looking down the barrel to check for any trickery.
“Son, you have about five seconds to explain yourself and I better like it. If not then I will bust your ass back to private so quickly, by God, you'll have whiplash. Do I make myself clear?” the Sergeant ordered. Brad froze for a moment, looking out at the waves of the sea, lifting up and then crashing down. Again and Again and Again.
“One!”
*Should I just tell them?*
“Two!”
*Nah. They’d kill me for hiding it!*
“Three!”
*Or maybe I could win the war? If they’d let me.*
“Four!”
*Don’t be daft. They’d kill what they don’t understand.*
“Five!”
*Unless…*
“Alright, that’s that Priv…” the Sergeant started before being interrupted.
“Fine then, have it your way,” Brad shouted, just wanting to be heard over the shouts of the Sergeant. “I can hack real life. Shoot multiple bullets, walk through walls, go invisible. Stuff like that.”
Troy’s jaw dropped, his eyes grew wide, a face that screamed fear. The Sergeant though, was different.
“Invisible you say?” asked the Sergeant. “Prove it.” Brad closed his eyes for a moment, thinking about his body disappearing. When he heard Troy’s gasp he knew he had achieved it. When Brad turned visible once more, the three of them stood in silence for a minute, completing what to do next.
“Son,” smiled Sergeant Pierce, cracking his knuckles, “I think we’re going to have some fun with you.”
| 2021-11-09T12:50:50
| 2021-11-09T12:06:29
| 172
| 76
|
[WP] You find a genie lamp where the genie offers you unlimited wishes. The catch is that you must answer a mathematical question that continues to get progressively harder for every wish you make. If you answer the question wrong, every wish you made will be reversed with negative consequences.
|
"So you're saying I can wish for anything, right?"
"Anything. You'll just have to answer a simple math question for each wish."
Bullshit. I could see the bullshit in this Genie's eyes. There was no way it would be this easy.
"Fine. My first wish is that I don't have to answer any math questions you ask me after I make a wish."
"Fuck."
|
In a sense, getting mathematics right is what determines how everyone else's life goes too, so I am in no way shape or form in a unique position.
Nor am I unable to be emphathized with. (That's something I need to keep reminding myself of these days.)
If I could graph it out for you without feeling too scared, the plot(pun not intended) would show lots of minorly terrible things happening to me directly after the genesis of my genie problem, then some pretty terrible things happening to me in intervals that gradually get longer.
So, I have gone the longest I have ever not getting a math problem wrong, and intend to never get one wrong again. Also, the entire planet has it in its interest to help me not fuck up. Here's why:
My last wish was for world peace.
| 2017-06-18T06:29:50
| 2017-06-17T22:34:52
| 63
| 30
|
[WP] You, a wildlife photographer, fall into the ice while making a documentary. As you fade into frozen oblivion, you feel a gentle touch on your shoulder. You wake to hundreds of them. They bow. They sing for the dying. They raise their tusks in salute. Heaven is run by the walruses.
|
*they sing in bubbly voices with a bouncing beat reminiscent of so many Disney songs*
Welcome now to heaven, sir!
We're glad you're here, though you've no fur.
We've watched you with great interest;
We love your posts on Pinterest:
Walruses cuter than cats,
Walruses with funny hats,
A walrus rising from the sea,
A walrus drinking English tea,
Walruses in mating season,
A baby walrus with Domhnall Gleeeeeeeeson!
Stroll on through those pearly gates.
Take your seat among the greats!
Here's Alexander, Cyrus, Peter, and Ahmed
There's Moses, Buddha, Jesus, and >!REDACTED!<
They were all wrong, but we're not mad,
To walruses, they weren't half bad!
For you we have the seat of honor.
Place your tuskless self upon her.
Because you're our very favorite human.
*the singing stops and the smiling walrus stares at you creepily until you sit*
|
*The lake is clear, frozen over by crystallized snowflakes. For those who knew the earth well - for those who hoped and breathed her the same way she hoped and breathed them - the sounds of crashing waves could be heard under the vibration of walking footprints.*
*And if you were her child - if the earth claimed you as one of her own - you could see the creatures beyond, swimming deep below the underground, as clear as the bright blue sky. It was a magnificent sight to behold, watching the world become undone, seeking for love in even the most darkest of places.*
*(It comes from somewhere deep within, the ability to hold the world with the palms of your hands - to see the world as it sees you.)*
*As a child, I visited the sea quite frequently. Fishing was an enjoyable pastime, one that was often accompanied by the few friends I had, but mostly done out of peace. I liked watching nature through the eyes of a spectator. There were times where I have forgotten that I, too, am part of this universe, no matter how hard I try to separate myself as such. I remember one time, years and years ago, when I knew nothing more than the sand beneath my feet and the salt between my toes, I almost drowned. The undertow was viscous that day, like almost all days, but for some reason, it wrapped its invisible tentacles around me and pulled. It pulled me so far down that I forgot what it felt like to breathe. I remember feeling betrayed - that the sea I had grown to love would do this to me - but there was one moment, one second out of billions, where I felt complete serenity. Like a lighthouse flashing in the distance, the tide pulled me in, the waves crashing all around me, salt tearing at my eyes, and yet, feeling so completely free. I remember coming up for air and spluttering out the sea from my nose, mouth, ears. Hands grasped at me and pounded my back, words whispered and yelled and faded out completely. It’s scary - to know air and be forced to live without it - and the earth can be dangerous, a trickster in disguise, but it can also be beautiful and hopeful and nothing like you’ve ever seen before.*
*This is how I know the water.*
*I’ll never know for sure, and I’ll never know completely, but somewhere deep inside of me I hope that this is how the water knows me.*
*Living is exhilarating. Nature, even moreso. It’s an addiction - one that’s pulled me so far under that sometimes I forget what it feels like to breathe. Curiosity is like that sometimes, like an undertow that never lets you go.*
*But it’s also a life I'm willing to live. And so I do.*
*I love my job - fell in love with it the moment a camera was placed into my hands, the instructions as simple as breathing: explore and discover and capture the world for what it is.*
*So I do. I visit place after place; rainforests and deserts, the stars and the moon, the nitty and gritty, the perfect and beautiful.*
*And yet, I always find myself coming back to the water.*
*This is what I think as I walk on that glossy crystalized floor, as my feet glide atop glass, so natural and so in sync that it surprises even myself.*
*This is what I think as I ready the camera in my hands, as it becomes a part of me as if I were a machine, two sides of the same coin.*
*This is what I think as I watch the world slowly become undone - as I silently realize that ‘this is the way I want to live and I don’t even have to dream it anymore.’*
*And this is what I think as the footsteps begin to wobble, the reflection beneath my feet cracking, slipping through the fissure, falling beneath the world, pulled deep below by the undertow.*
*The air around me is frozen and I can start to feel silent pressure run up and down my spine, pushing and pulling me in so many directions at once. To breathe with no air is to not breathe at all, and isn’t that a scary thought?*
*The undertow is hungry. The water, more so. I want to escape from its hold. To yell out in betrayal. To scream and scream and pound my fists against its surface. To free myself from the panic and fear that I never again wanted to associate with the world.*
*It’s then that my second turns into hours - the single moment where time stops entirely, where the lighthouse turns and turns and offers solace to a lone ship in the night. The pressure is still there, but it’s more of a hug; as if it were holding me, as if it were telling me that everything would be okay. It’s a feeling of freedom that I haven’t experienced in a long time. It’s the type of freedom that I want to hold onto and never let go.*
*Perhaps that’s why I always come back to the water; to experience what it means to be free.*
*The world around me becomes heavy, as if I were carrying her on my shoulders, and I want to tell her ‘no’ - want to explain that I can’t take that burden with me, not when I’ve finally found freedom - but alas, the world is as beautiful as she is cruel, and it’s then that I’m pulled into merciful oblivion.*
—
The hands touching me are cold. Gentle, but cold.
It takes some time to finally move my body about. It’s not a painful process, not in the slightest, but it’s weary and open, feeling vulnerable even amidst the quiet peace.
As my eyes adjust and my body relaxes, the beginning of a melody reaches my ears. It’s a wonderful rhythm of sorrow and joy - solemn in a way that brings about tranquility.
There’s hundreds of them. *Hundreds*.
I watch as they bow to me, raising their tusks as if in salute, before returning to their song. *They’re singing for the dying*, I suddenly realize. Or maybe not. Maybe they’re singing *to* the dying.
But maybe it doesn’t matter - not completely. Certainly not in the long run. And I've run far. We all have. Even these creatures. *Especially* these creatures.
Because it’s in these creatures that I see what life and death mean. They may be walruses - may be so overlooked and undermined - but they’re still here. Still a part of this world. Even when they remain invisible to that of a naked eye. Even when they are laughed at and scorned and made fun of. Especially then.
Life and death and whatever it is that exists between are made of so many moments, of so many memories. It’s in life that we explore - that we gather along coastlines, feet planted beneath soft sand and toes squished against flowing salt. And it’s in life that we get the chance to see what earth could be - that we learn to grow and hold the world with two hands.
But it’s in death that the invisible become seen. That freedom - true freedom - becomes tangible for all those who want it.
A girl who watches the stars with quiet eyes, dreaming of building spaceships in her garage and wishing to discover all that’s out there.
A boy who builds blanket forts in the dark of the night when everybody is asleep, clicking out his flashlight and reading about all that’s unknown.
A man who calls the sea his home, who loves and wants and finds hope beneath crashing tides and rising darkness.
A hundred walruses, forgotten but never truly lost, as gentle as they are cold, singing to all those who wish to be known.
—
If you enjoyed reading, feel free to check out some of my other writing on /r/itrytowrite
| 2021-01-07T17:41:46
| 2021-01-07T17:08:55
| 41
| 27
|
[WP] After you die, you find out that reincarnation is real, however, there is an error and your memories are still intact upon reincarnation.
|
Aristotle believed that the fetus was ensouled after 40 days - for male embryos, that is. Female ones took 90 days. Ha ha, funny, right? The things people used to believe. Stoicism believed the baby was only ensouled at birth, upon exposure to the outside air. Christians, of course, would have you believe that ensoulment happens at conception, never mind that up to half of fertilized eggs spontaneously abort without the woman ever realizing she's pregnant. That's a massacre for you. All these fun facts I used to memorize, pointing out how ludicrous the whole system must have been - they're a cold comfort now that I realize they were right.
Not completely right, of course. Christians don't believe in reincarnation. They don't believe in being on your death bed and waking up and realizing you don't have limbs anymore, that you don't have eyes to open to see the dark. I went sort of mental, in those days. There's been a mistake, I kept telling myself, there's been a mistake, there's been a mistake. Imagine being in a sensory deprivation tank, so utterly alone that you don't realize where you are. Not even the necessary neural development to think thoughts. Just all these memories of a life once lived, superimposed on a bunch of replicating cells. The only sense you have is some faint awareness of yourself, your own mass, dividing and growing larger, larger, larger. Imagine an hour of that, a day of that, a week of that, a month of that, and then distantly realizing that this was going to be a nine month long stretch.
Just abort, I thought to myself a lot in those days. Just spontaneously abort. One of nature's happy little accidents. But that wouldn't be an escape, would it? I've died once before, heck, maybe I've died a hundred times before. I'd just wake up and start all over again.
Bit by bit, there's a heart, a heartbeat. I try to keep time to that - it's fluttering like a fucking rat's - and count to 1,563 before I lose track. It's a game, y'know, if you played games to keep from going mad. I had a name once, I figure. I had a life. I had people who loved me. But it's getting harder and harder to keep track. There's a slow formation of a sense of self. A tail. A mouth. Limbs. The first beginnings of a brain. I learn to move. I flail, I thrash wildly and exhaust myself, trying to escape. Eyes develop behind fused-shut eyelids, and I once again grasp the concept of light.
The understanding makes it worse, the sensory input makes it worse, the gradual connection of synapses drives me insane. This is hell, I think. This is my punishment. This is the wages of my sin. At least God, I think, has a sense of humor. Sure, I think, I'd vote for him. This is the divine irony of the situation: as a undifferentiated cluster of cells, I didn't have the capacity to remind myself who I was. And now that I'm slowly starting to develop the capacity for thought, I've lost those memories to the months and months of darkness. I learn to breathe, and take in my first lungful of fluid. I can't even remember my face.
It's getting tighter, smaller, my world contracting around me. There's a thing that I once wanted called escape, but the precise idea is lost to me now. I'm scared. I'm thrashing. And as the world closes in, a distant thought resurfaces in my mind: nothing has gone wrong. This is how it's supposed to work. This is how we die, and this is how we are all born.
I see light, and feel the first touch of air on my skin, and I begin to scream.
|
I have watched her a lot since I found her again, but I promise myself this will be the last time.
She is 40 years older than me but she is still as beautiful as the day we met. She stands outside her house waving her arms as if she is conducting an orchestra. There is a van in her drive and two men are unloading furniture into her home. An expensive looking wardrobe is followed by a leather swivel chair and a bookshelf.
When they are done unloading, they begin to take *junk* out of the house and pack it away into their van. I watch broken hearted as my favourite chair is carelessly tossed into the van. Then my guitar is taken away. The pain reaches a crescendo as our two-seater bike is brought out of the shed and discarded as if it is trash. It is not.
My tiny lip trembles and, for the first time since coming back, I actually feel like a child. I sit on the wall and I weep.
The van drives away, forever taking part of me with it.
The man she has been regularly meeting with pulls up. He gets out of his BMW and and greets her with a hug and a kiss. She stands on her tip toes in that excited way she does. My heart flutters as I remember the many times she did exactly that when I arrived home from work. Then I think of how she must have felt the one time I didn't.
I want to shout out to her and say "Elizabeth! I'm alive! I love you and I never stopped loving you!" and I want to kiss her and smell her. But I know it would make everything worse for me. For her.
She is in love, again, and this breaks my heart. And yet behind the scolding tears pouring down my face, I am honestly happy for her.
They are on a journey together now; a new life.
Today my journey continues too. I pray that these memories do not follow me into the next life.
| 2016-07-19T03:08:40
| 2016-07-19T02:25:40
| 18
| 13
|
[WP] You buy a special camera at the pawn shop. Every photo you take, it shows a snapshot of 10 years ago. You take a picture of your dog and it shows him 10 years ago when he was a puppy. Everything is all fun and games, until you decide to take a picture of your bedroom one night.
|
This is the third night in a row I get the same picture. Very little difference in each, at most I'm wearing a different set of PJ's but that **thing** is just sitting there. Watching.
I snap another Polaroid every few minutes, trying to catch where this thing disappears to every night. About two hours later all I catch is a few embarrassing losses on Super Smash Bros. Melee, the thing just sits there; unmoving, without wavering. It never changes in any of the pictures.
I had to go a few days before I could purchase more film, each night was sleepless. I remember each night I would get off the GameCube at 10:30, I'll start there this time.
The first picture I took in the doorway like I have been, nothing really out of the ordinary from the other pictures.
I snapped another picture every minute until I caught the moment I stood to turn off the game. I took them every few seconds after that.
My younger self turns around and walks towards my old bed, right past the thing sitting on the floor. It turns as I walk next to it, the first movement I've seen it make.
I get close to where the thing sits and try to snap a picture of it's face but I missed. It's standing now and I took a picture of it's mid section.
It looked... Like a woman.
The next picture I took she was standing over me while I was lying down. I remember feeling restless when I was younger because I felt watched, the realization raised goose bumps and hairs.
I had to sit in my new bed to get a picture of her facing the young me. What I thought was a dark hood was actually hair, it obscured most of her face but it was familiar.
There was a certain look about her face; fondness, concern... Sadness. Another picture at around midnight revealed she was holding my hand as I slept.
I closed my eyes to try and remember ever waking up because someone touched my hand as I slept. The only thing that came though was a gentle melody, a soft hum just out of ear shot, barely noticeable.
I could feel myself drifting off into sleep, god only knew how bad I needed it at this point. The melody was so calming, so relaxing... So familiar...
I knew this tune. My mother used to hum it a long time ago, she stopped humming it after a really bad wreck when I was very young.
"Shh," I heard my mother's gentle hush. "Sleep now and sleep easy."
The last thing I remember before falling asleep is seeing my mother by my bed.
"Were you in my room last night?" I ask my mother the next morning at breakfast.
"No," she says slowly as she looks at me strangely, like someone may have broken into the house. "Did you see someone?"
"No, I," I fumbled as my heart started racing. "It must've been a dream." I said before stuffing more food in my mouth.
I had to try it, everything in my body was telling me I had to do it. I began humming.
"That's a lovely tune," my mother says, "where did you hear it?"
|
I took the picture, smiling inwardly. I wonder how it'll look? I'd only been living there for a few months - I wonder what it had been like 10 years ago? What pictures would be up on the walls? Was the building even 10 years old?
I went to the darkroom, dipping the photo into the chemicals. I'd always enjoyed the process - it gave me time to think, to be lost in that secluded world of darkness. I felt strangely safe in it.
I hung up the photo, going outside to feed Max. I framed the picture I took of him as a puppy - he'd been so cute back then, but worryingly thin. As a rescue dog, it made me even happier that I'd found him. I gave him a treat along with his food - I'd been taken even better care of him lately, seeing how he'd looked so many years ago. He needs all the love he can get.
Back to the darkroom. It was silly, but I was excited to see the picture. Most of the images I'd took had ended up being very banal, but something about this one filled me with intrigue.
I took the picture off the wire, peering into it in the darkness. It didn't seem to have developed properly - it was so dark. I let my eyes become accustomed to the darkness, and I looked closer into the image.
The picture wasn't dark. It seemed obscured, almost as if there was a figure standing too close to the camera.
Then I saw it - then I saw her.
*Looking directly into the camera*.
Suddenly Max whined outside. I'd never heard him make that noise, and it made me instantly drop the photo. I turned to open the door, but the handle was stuck. No - the door was *locked*.
Max was barking, growling. I'd never heard him like that. I beat at the door, hitting it with all my might, but it wouldn't budge. Panicking, I grabbed the photo again, lifting it to my face.
The room was bare. The figure gone.
Something slammed against the wall, and I heard Max's muffled cry.
Then she came for me.
| 2016-12-22T04:34:03
| 2016-12-22T03:14:16
| 30
| 11
|
[WP] Fit as many plot twists as you can into one story.
|
Jack awoke to find himself strapped to a surgical table. A quick glance around the operating theater, and he began to piece things together. The last thing he remembered was buying a nice enough looking girl a drink at that shitty dive bar, The Last Resort, the night before. As he began to pull at his restraints, the doors opened.
It was her. Funny, she didn't look half as attractive now as she had in the bar's dim lighting. "Hello, Jack."
"What is going on?" Jack demanded to know. The girl sighed.
"We don't have time to play games." With that, she placed her hand on the back of her skull and pulled off the mask, revealing the reptilian face beneath. "Shall we get down to business?"
Jack wasn't phased. "I wondered how long it would take for you to show yourself, Maniah. I gotta say, the skin suit wasn't a big improvement. Now that it's just you and me, I should confess. I don't have the device. I sent it through the time portal before you approached me at the bar last night. I guess I kinda ruined your plans." Jack let the revelation sink in, knowing that the geolocator embedded in his thigh would have his extraction team busting through the door any minute.
"Last night?" Maniah seemed confused for moment. "Oh, yes, sorry. You'll want to see this. She neared the table and swung over a mirror. Jack looked at his reflection, the image of an old man. "Jack it might seem like last night to you, but it's been fifty years. Among other things, that means your team isn't coming. We removed your locator decades ago. If I remember correctly, that was around the same time we killed your wife and son."
Admittedly, all this new information took Jack a few moments to take in. He was still putting the puzzle together as he spoke. "You stupid reptilian bitch! Do you think I would leave my own family out in the open like that? Those were droids! I sent my real family through the portal long before you approached me. You can't break me that easily!"
Maniah's tail twitched as she walked to the intercom. "Oh, Jack. We've never had to break you, only copy you." She pressed the button, saying "You can come in now."
The doors swung open again, and in walked Jack, appearing 50 years younger. "Meet Jack Prime. It took us some time, but we've finally managed to clone you, memories fully intact. I figured you'd be, let's say, uncooperative. But our new, fresh Jack here, well, we're becoming good friends. He's told us all about the device, where to find it, et cetera. You might also want to know that I've engineered him to be a generous lover."
Jack was running out of moves. "You must have also programmed him to be straight. I'd never screw a woman, much less a reptilian one." Of all the things Jack could have anticipated, coming out to a reptilian overlord after a fifty year coma was not one of them.
"Oh, Jack, I'm surprised at you." Maniah's voice lowered a full octave. "You never discovered my true identity." With that, she stripped off her lab coat to reveal a glorious reptilian penis. "Jack Prime and I get along famously."
--------
"Hey OriginalName317, what the fuck are you doing? This story was coming along pretty nicely, and then you throw in a 'glorious reptilian penis'?"
"I don't know, dude, I knew I was going to have to wrap this up soon, and I kinda wrote myself into a corner. I panicked" OriginalName317 stared at his keyboard, not daring to look his roommate in the eye.
"I'm disappointed. I mean, you had a real opportunity here. This is the chance we've been waiting for since the mothership beamed us down here..." the roommate stopped. "Hey, are you writing down what I'm saying?"
OriginalName317 continued typing. "No," he lied.
"We cannot reveal our mission! Have you forgotten all your training? You know the penalty for discovery is death!" The roommate paused, tapping his tentacles on the hardwood floor thoughtfully. The idiot would never discover that these were in fact laminate floors, and there were three bodies buried in the concrete below, and they were still alive since they were immortals, and that when the nukes went off, signaling world war III in 14 months, the immortals would be freed to finally rule the planet, but they would be the only creatures still alive, and that would be the precise moment the Milky Way Simulation would end.
"Why are you still typing?" The roommate interrupted the incessant tapping. "That's a pretty good place to end it. It wraps it up nicely, and right before I slit your throats for treason."
OriginalName317 was nearing the close. "Relax. We both know you're not going to kill me. The voices in my head have never been that powerful." With that, the roommate vanished. "And ... roll credits. Well, that's my idea, Mr. Spielberg. What do you think?"
Steven Spielberg stared in disbelief. "Look, are you going to bring me my sandwich, or what?"
|
James was sitting in his 3rd hour biology class talking to his crush, Jessica.
All of the sudden, James felt something overcome his body
"Oh no" James shrieked as he sat in his sweat covered chair
He felt a hot luscious liquid trying to escape from his rectal gates
He got up and made a mad dash for the door, but it was too late
The floodgates had opened and diarrhea violently spewed out of the ends of his jeans
He stood there frozen, in shock, as the class stared him in the eyes
Slowly, each classmate got up and started to clap. Soon, the entire classroom was roaring with excitement, frantically clapping and cheering James on
His crush, Jessica, sprinted to James and tackled him to the floor
They immediately started to fornicate on the shit covered floor.
Their biology teacher, Al Sharpton, quickly got out his 1997 Sony camcorder and started recording the fecal fornication.
He was in the middle if climaxing when he heard something strange
"James" "JAMES!"
James awoke in a fiery sweat
He looked above and saw a black and white silhouette
It was a NFL referee. He had gone unconscious on the 27 yard line in the middle of a Sam Diego Chargers football game from a helmet to helmet hit.
Jessica was no where to be found and James was disappointed to find out the best day of his life was only a dream.
Regardless of his sadness, he had to get up and do the only thing that was right, play football.
James is Phillip Rivers.
| 2016-11-27T11:17:13
| 2016-11-27T10:55:05
| 497
| 10
|
[WP] Finally, the ultimate MMORPG has been created, unlimited choice and room to grow and expand your character. There's just one issue, it's so realistic, nobody can remember which life they are living, and which is the game.
|
I'd died already.
I look around. I'm in a small rundown apartment. It smells. It's too small. It's too big. It's...empty. There is cracking plaster where my legendary swords are supposed to be. A small TV where my Mythic Artifacts are supposed to be displayed.
An empty chair where Maria should be.
I think I'd always known in some part of my mind that none of it was real. That I was hooked up to a VR device in another world. I'd tried to forget, I'd tried so hard.
But in the end death comes to us all.
I was a God in that world, a hero. Someone Maria would be happy to be with, but here...
I look around.
I'm a loser with a video game addiction. I briefly entertain the notion of finding Maria in this real world, but I think better of it. What if she doesn't want me as I am?
What if she hadn't even been real? An NPC?
No I couldn't take that. I wouldn't take that. There was only one thing to do.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
I look around. I'm in a video game booth. There are people of all colors and clothing hooked up to the same kind of VR device I held in my hand all around me.
No. I'd died. This....this couldn't be happening. I think back, try to remember. Was this me? Was this my real life? This had to be, it had to be.
Death, after all, comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
I look around, my heart still beating hard. I'm on a couch with a giant 50 inch screen in front of me and a VR device in my hand. A woman with golden locks sits next to me, immersed in her own VR device.
Nononononono.
Death comes to us all, it has to. It has to.
***
I'd died already.
An office with bare furnishings.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
A government testing facility.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
A cruise ship.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
What seemed like a wizard's tower.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd never died before.
Perhaps death didn't come to everyone after all.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
My character in the game, John paused hus game and finally looked up. He was a game character designed by me to look like me. I had spent a lot of money buying every expansion that came out. My house, my room, my stuff, they were all exactly the same as what I had in real life. I had been making my character 'John' play a game inside his game for the past few hours. I felt my stomach rumble, and paused my game, looking up, and froze.
I paused my game and looked up. My room was dark, gloomy and messy. It only bore a passing resemblance to the one I had designed in the game. I open the door and found that my mother had left the meal on the doorstep. I could hear my mother sobbing softly upstairs. I grabbed the meal and went back into my room, locking the door behind me.
It took me some time to convince myself that this was all a game.
| 2018-02-19T08:24:17
| 2018-02-19T07:06:50
| 857
| 14
|
[WP] You are immortal, never age past 20 and were sentenced to 247 years in jail for your crimes. Your release date is tomorrow, the government is nervous and the world is watching.
|
'Thanks, Sarah. I'm here outside Isle Elba Prison where we're counting down to the release of The Governor's son, Charlemagne, two-hundred and forty seven years after he was sentenced to imprisonment here for the murder of twenty-five of The Grand Synod in 3073. Charlemagne, the youngest of The Governor's sons, is expected to walk through those double doors at around dawn tomorrow and rejoin his father back in their family home in central Rome. The Governor has issued a statement that he expects the negotiation regarding terms of surrender for North America to continue in his absence, though sources say there is considerable concern within the government both at his prolonged absence and the return of his prodigal son'
The reporter gestured to the high walls and razor wire behind her, which were being warmed by the Mediterranean sun.
'While little detail on the lives of the inmates of Elba are known to the public, what we do know is that Charlemagne was granted a three year reduction in sentence for good behaviour, and that his lawyers have stated that he understands what he did was wrong, and he hopes to become an active contributing member of society. Further updates when I have them...'
The TV was difficult to hear over the scraping of plates and cutlery in the large prison canteen, but Charlemagne thought he had caught most of it. The programme had moved back to the studio, to go into depth again on his original sensational arrest and trail nearly a two-hundred and fifty years ago. Images of scarlet and white flashed across the scene, followed by videos of court proceedings and grieving crowds.
Two hundred and fifty years, ten for every life he'd taken. He'd sat in silence throughout the trial. He'd known it was coming, planned for it. Only, he'd planned for two-hundred and forty years, not two-hundred and fifty.
The twenty-fifth count of murder, well, the twenty-fifth wasn't one of his. It was the only body that the police at the time had been unable to identify, dressed though he was in the scarlet robes of the pompous Cardinals who made up the Synod's highest rank.
Charlemagne had taken the blame anyway. Hard to convince a jury that you're guilty of all murders but one. Better to remain silent, and plan.
The news report was now flashing up a close-up of his face from the trial, tanned with a dark brow and aquiline nose, inherited from his father. The years in prison had left their mark on him, but not in the usual way. While the faces of the prisoners around him, some of the most dangerous men on the planet, had slowly started to distort through weight gain, lack of sleep, too much sun, and hair loss, Charlemagne remained the youth he had been when he entered the prison. It had been fascinating for him to watch the former titans of cruelty melt into old men up close. Aging wasn't something in his own families genes.
His only physical souvenir was an impressive scar that now ran from his left brow straight down his face - a reminder of a cell-mate brawl only thirty years into his tenure in Elba. It had been one of the many attempts that his other four brother had made on his life while he served his sentence. None of them had been truly serious, thought the knife attack had been the close, more tests to keep Charlemagne on his toes while they waited for him to re-emerge. They likely thought it was all terribly funny. Instead it had provided the most serious obstacle to Charlemagne's only aim when he entered Elba's doors - to stay on the good side of the Prison guards and do whatever he could to reduce his sentence.
Elba had always been the plan. Their father's ambitions had been hampered, and Charlemagne had commited himself to serving that ambition.
The real problem was the twenty-fifth corpse. That hadn't been part of their plan.
Someone had tried to keep him locked up for ten years more that they had planned. Charlemagne didn't like to think what that meant, and now he only had three years to find out.
|
After 247 years, you really begin to reflect on who you are. Tomorrow will be the first time I can breath without the pressure of my past weighing down on me. I’m aware of what I’ve done, and I’m aware of my power. If I could take it all back, I would. No one should have the power I have.
It’s warm outside. I’m the only one who can appreciate the warmth of the sun. Everyone is too focused on me. It’s so tense out here. Helicopters cover the sky, cameras all focusing on me. There’s no civilians here, no one protesting the end of my incarceration. Things change after 247 years, and technology is no different. The helicopters are empty, controlled remotely. The only humans here are the guards and the officers, a millions guns pointed right at me. Right at my heart. It means nothing but it calms them.
The people who’re no longer here because of me, they’re haunting me. At 20 years old, never getting anything except the bottom of the barrel, when you’re given the ability to take whatever you want, you just run with it. You don’t think of the people you take from or the families now left with anger and the need to take revenge. And it’s those families that hurt me the most. The children of the man I killed, watching me on television, having to grow up without a father, and knowing that one day I’ll go free, no one should feel that. When someone is convicted, there’s a comfort in the thought of ‘they’ll die in prison, they’ll one day repent their sins.’ But not me.
| 2019-05-14T13:54:02
| 2019-05-14T13:44:53
| 68
| 12
|
[WP] You're a student of music in the 23rd century. This is your A+ essay regarding a famous song from the 21st century, in which you dissected and heavily misinterpreted.
|
For the thesis I will analyse one of the songs found on the disc recovered from the ruins of old L.A.
Starting with infamous line
"My anaconda don't want none if you aint got buns hun"
The famous giant anaconda snake is a symbol of Brazil. This lyric highlights the tragic brazillian dependance on US aid and shunning of local produce. But it's a little known fact just who that voice belongs to. It is in fact the voice of a famous 20th century philosopher known only as Sir Mixalot. Most of his work has been lost to time but he is famed for his inability to lie. This choice of speaker gives the song a distinct undertone of honesty, ethics and integrity.
"I let him hit it cus he sling cocaine". At first listen this line may sound like gibberish to our modern ears. However sling is an old colloquial term for throwing and cocaine was a deadly illegal drug that plagued the streets of Oil age America. So it appears Nicki allowed this man to discipline her pet snake because he works in law enforcement discarding cocaine.
"I got a big butt". Now butts are one part of a type of primitive gunpowder weapon very popular at the time. In this line she is implying that she is very well armed. Presumably for the fending off of criminals. The deranged laughter at the beginning of the line highlights the giddy thrill of controlling such (for the time) powerful weaponry.
I conclude that this song is about resisting the decay of civilization. It is nothing more or less than a great rallying cry against crime and injustice. With any luck this epic ballad of courage will echo through the generations and be heard in our own time.
|
"Bad Romance," by Lady Gaga, was one of the foremost artistic masterpieces of the 21st century, not for its catchy tune or its insight lyrics, but for its subtle minimalism and purity of construction.
Though many argue that it falls short of the staggering genius that was "Chaccaron Maccaron" by El Mundo, it does have the same inspiration, as evidenced by the similar depths of emotions, from heart-wrenching love and desire to soul-crushing loss and despair. We see hints of it in her "roma-romas" as well as in her admitted aspirations to have a criminal's vertigo stick in her rear window. And what it lacks in quality, it makes up for in quantity; rather than overwhelm her audience with a deluge of new sensory information, Lady Gaga artfully chooses to maintain her focus at all times. For example, she uses the word "romance" 27 times in less than five minutes, a clever tip of the hat to the name of the song, "Bad Romance." She also inserts her own name, "Gaga," via wordplay on five separate occasions. Finally, she alludes to "love" directly 41 times, or every six and a half seconds.
This is a song for the masses, because it has all pertinent information regarding the song worked into it: the title, the artist, and the main theme. There's little filler, such as descriptions or plot; just clean, unfiltered repetition, the variety of brutally honest repetition usually reserved for parrots or brain-washing cults like the Reaping Fathers who graciously took over our democracy in the 22nd century, praise be to Chancellor Seeing-Eye.
So while "Bad Romance" doesn't quite live up to the standard set by El Mundo, it certainly revolutionized the music industry of the time by making the constructs of plot, rhythm, syntax, or rhyme scheme inconsequential. This work reduced music to its simplest and therefore most advanced form; it has achieved what decades of architectural minimalism have striven for, and even more impressive, without even using real words half the time.
This *magnum opus* culminates in a superb demonstration of Lady Gaga's French vocabulary, which not only hearkens back to the "oh la la" root of the song, but also helps foreshadow that Lady Gaga's mystery criminal is, in fact, a Frenchman. Regrettably, there was never any sequel to this masterpiece written by Gaga herself, though one can surmise that perhaps it might have been revealed that the vertigo stick was actually the Eiffel Tower, and Lady Gaga's stage name was an allusion to the Moulin Rouge. This would not only explain the leather-studded kiss in the sand (the French are infamous for being romantic) but also the fashion walk that the criminal does at the end of the song. Only a sissy Frenchman would be able to do a fashion show like that and still capture the heart of the delicate "freak bitch" that is Lady Gaga.
So this humble critic poses a challenge to the musical savants of our day: Was this a singular work of unattainable perfection, never again to be approached by mere mortals? Or, maybe, just maybe, will one stop forward who will be able to construct a sequel of integrity, one that whisks our minds away into a heavenly four minute, thirty-five second fantasy? We can only hope.
| 2015-08-16T10:31:31
| 2015-08-16T10:20:58
| 20
| 10
|
[WP] The children were nestled away safe in their beds. You’ve hung their stockings over the fire place. A tree has been set up in a place of prominence. “For the children” you whisper as you place the offering of milk and cookies and began the Santa summing incantation
|
A fat white dude in his underwear (red) stands in front of you with sleep sticky eyes.
Yawning “I asked you last year to keep in mind time zones. This is just rude. I get the whole kids things and don’t mind coming, but could you not call me In the middle of the night? It’s a long day tomorrow “.
Janet grimaced. She’d been successful at summoning Santa over the last three years, and she did remember the time difference. But how else was she going to get the timing right for her kids.
A quick glance at the clock and at the fat man eating the second cookie, she realized she was going to have to hurry if she was going to get any gifts from him. Once the cookies were gone, that was it.
“At least your baking has gotten better... real butter this time!”
She sighed. She’d been baking constantly this year because of Covid, so the cookies damn well better be good. Sadly apparently he eats faster with tasty cookies. But at least he has calmed down. She sighed and collected herself for phase 2.
“Santa I’ve been a good girl, can I sit on your knee?”
He stopped chewing and raised an eyebrow “you really want to do it this way? You don’t have to bind me. I’ll give your kids exactly what they asked for.”
Janet shuddered silently as she thought of her sons letter to Santa. Santa’s offer was more of a threat than an offer of good will. The kid asked for a freaking monkey.
She shook her head.
Samar’s sighed. Long. Put down half the remaining cookie. “Fine. Come sit on my knee.”
“Have you been a good girl this year”.
“Yes Santa”.
“Made your bed everyday, and did all your chores?”
“Yes Santa”
“Hmmm, I am not sure about that... I see an entry on a Tinder date gone I wrong.”
Janet jerked up right. She’d been lulled into a state of childlike wonder by the magic aura around the fat man. Colour rose high on her cheeks as she remembered that awful date before the pandemic hit. “Uh ah I uh.”
“It’s ok, his foot healed. But maybe you shouldn’t wear heels on a date. Or take dancing lessons. Do you want dancing lessons for Christmas little girl?”
“No, no!” She paused “can I have a new home? With a bedroom for Agnes, a bedroom for Roy and a bedroom for me? With access to a park or a yard? And room for a dog and cat? It doesn’t have to be a house or a fancy place, just somewhere safe”.
It was Santa’s turn to sit up straight and look at Janet oddly. He turned his head to really look at his surroundings and realized it wasn’t the same house as last year. Tiny, barred windows at the top of the ceiling. A sink, stove and mini fridge scattered around the room. Bunk beds with two figures asleep under blankets. A neat pile of blankets stacked beside an ancient arm chair.
He looked back at her.
“I have been good. Really good. But this year has been hard.” Tears started leaking out from her eyes.
Santa’s heart melted and he pulled her close.
“Of course my child. You have been good. The wish is bound. Go to sleep.”
He lifted the sleepy woman and carefully placed her back in the chair, he covered her with her blanket and smoothed the hair away from her now sleeping face.
He sighed at the surroundings and with a snap of the fingers, the fridge was almost overflowing with Christmas feast. Goodies sat on top. Presents appeared under the tree, including a stuffed monkey. And a small box, just big enough for a key, glistening with gold wrapping paper and glowing faintly dangled from a tree limb.
|
Sara having tucked the children in bed and prepared the offering stood in front of the cold fireplace.
She begun the chant to summon Santa Claus the spirit of Christmas and winter solstice.
"Spirit of kindness that signifies the returning of the light I invite you in my home to spread cheer and merriment this cold night." She tossed a handful of holly from the freshly made wreath into the cold fireplace and then a couple sprigs of pine from the Christmas tree.
The sound of laughter reverberated through the room before a fire sprung to life in the fireplace and a firm but gentle hand rested on Sara's shoulder.
"Merry Christmas my dear Sara!" His chuckle caused every source of light to brighten up the room for a few seconds.
Sara turned to see a man almost 8 foot tall and stocky with belly that would barely had fitted in a small wheelbarrow. His red cheeks and warm smile contrasted his piercing eyes that saw straight into your soul. This burly man with white hair and a big white beard was wrapped up in a Santa suit and even the thick heavy red coat with white fur trimmed along the edges. A big bag over his shoulder held easily by his hand that looked like it could singlehandly pick up a polar bear.
Sara smiled and she hugged Santa as he embraced her careful not to hurt her. He whispered into her ear "Kate, Paul, and Ryan, Veronica have been very good this year"
Santa stepped back making room for his bag as he brought it down to the floor causing the boards to creak. He opened it gently putting 8 beautifully wrapped gifts under the tree. Santa looked to Sara who was trying to hide her tears from him. A quick glance around this small home barely held together by Sara constant improvised repairs and her clearly almost barren pantry would of explained the tears. Santa however knew everything about everyone. Their every thought as clear as words in a book.
His hand gently wiped away a tear from Sara's cheek before he turned around and pulled from his pocket a simple brown paper wrapped box with her name on it. He put it gently under the tree.
Santa whispered into Sara ear "I love all my children Sara even after you have grown up. Rob and me had a very long conversation about his responsibility to help provide for his children. He will be paying now like a good boy or else!!" "Now off to bed child you will need your sleep"
Sara now in bed Santa ate the offering while Mrs Claus sit to filling the pantry and fridge with the most delicious of food fit for growing children and single moms. At the same time a team of elves put a thousand years of wisdom into fixing the home to make it a true home for growing children and their tired mother. One even cleaned the drive and made a snowman. Their work done they disappeared into the night sky as reindeer pulled the sleigh to the next place they were needed.
| 2020-12-08T13:41:52
| 2020-12-08T13:35:25
| 58
| 14
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
"I couldn't ask for a better birthday," she said. "Beautiful weather, lush countryside and best of all, a picnic with the man I love."
"Here," he said, as he offered her a scotch egg.
"Wow - homemade?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Go on, try it."
She bit into the soft layer of breadcrumbs, through the meat and into the cavernous center.
"Oh my god, this is amazing!"
"Your father helped me with it," he said, taking out a knife and slicing the loaf of bread.
"It was *dad's* recipe? Oh my God, you're so sneaky! When did you go see him?"
"Yesterday. I... I wanted to ask him... God, this is tough. I wanted to ask him for his permission..."
"*To marry me?*" she whispered.
"Yes." He nodded towards the white, round centre of the scotch-egg.
"Is-" she began, her face ecstatic, "Is there a ring in the- oh, *oh God*," she said, as she picked up the egg in the center. She turned it around, until its pupil stared straight at her.
"Your father said no. But I think - *hope* - you might say, yes?"
|
As I opened my eyes at the loud noise, it seemed as if time stopped. The earth stood still.
This tends to be a reoccurring event at night. I hate admitting I have PTSD, but some things are hard to erase. I go through counseling even though all it does is seemingly salt the wound. The love of my wife and best friend.. She deserves better than what I am now. So I go for her, hoping for the best.
As I lay in the dark, I stare at the ceiling. Not daring to move a finger. Waiting. Listening for more evidence of something more. As I strain, just knowing something is there this time, I hear it. Someone was in the hallway. Swiftly tossing the covers to the side, I see the tall dark hooded man at the door way. Knowing to deal with this situation better than my last, I leaped forward and tackled him to the ground. Surprisingly weak, he grasped for breath, pleading for mercy. I wasn't going to give it this time. I squeezed till my nails turned crimson red and his face a beautiful blue.
Screaming for my wife I receive no answer. Panicking. I attempt to call 911 as I scream her name. I search everywhere and pray to god she somehow ran out.
As the cops pull up I ran out trying to explain the intruder and what happened.
When they came back out of the house they handcuffed me and put me in the car. Assuming for casual questioning I did not argue. That is.. until I looked at my hands.
I never took my medication that morning.
| 2017-05-31T06:46:24
| 2017-05-31T04:16:34
| 1,067
| 124
|
Writing Prompt: Write from an antagonist's point of view
You can choose your antagonist from a book already written or write a new story with the antagonist as the main character.
|
Really? Again? How many times do I have to show her I love her. Those blue eyes, golden blonde hair, her incredible fashion sense. Sometimes I really think its me. Sometimes I don't feel good enough. It cant be my hair? I've been told I can be a bit assertive, but you have to be in my position. I mean, I have friends...workers...minions. But what girl doesn't like a guy with power. I own a castle for Christ sake! What more do I need? Obviously she doesn't care about looks if she's constantly out with that short, dirty plumber. I mean come on! We get it, you're a plumber! I Know you don't work THAT much where you have to wear you're uniform EVERYWHERE you go! Get some new clothes with your paycheck. I'm just as good as him. You know what? I'm going to surprise her with a date, I'll pick her up and take her to my place. Yeah, that sounds great. She'll love the gesture and how spontaneous I can be. I just hope that Mario doesn't ruin things, as always.
|
They have no idea what's coming. These people surround me and they think they are so noble and powerful. Feeding the children wants of materialistic items. These people disgust me. They feel as though they can disgrace me and my people? No. Not anymore. I need to make a statement. Should I go through with this? Is this the right thing? Of course it is. I pledged myself for this day. This hour. This moment. For these moments, the world will have their eyes on me. These greedy men and women will look to me in angst and wish they would have seen the warnings.
My seat is uncomfortable. The feels of anxiety and excitement rush through my veins. I look down to the other side and I see one of my partners. He looks at me with deep eyes. He has a family at home. He is leaving behind his wife and children for this. Is this the right thing to do? Of course it is. We must go through with this.
I hear a ringing in my ears in flashing before my eyes. It's almost time. My heart is racing within my chest. I close my eyes and think of my mother and father. They have so much faith in me and my mission. I suddenly open my eyes to the sound of a man talking.
"Ladies and gentlemen we are cruising at a perfect 30,000 feet and we will be arriving in arriving in Los Angels in about 6 hours. So kick back and have a great flight. Thank you for choosing American Airlines."
I look over. I get a nod. I slowly stand up ready to make history. To show these people that we are the true power of the world. I must not let him down. I must go through with this. Praise Allah.
| 2012-08-08T15:34:38
| 2012-08-08T14:47:01
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] A bard is kidnapped by orcs. At first the bard is terrified, however the orcs actually treat the bard with much more respect than any tavern full of drunks ever had. It seems the ability to sing and play instruments is extremely rare amongst orcs but even they love music.
|
Too many nights I came home, my clothes stained with food and ale from the multitudes of drunken boors of the tavern. Though I made enough to scrape by, not a soul cared for the craft and creativity. But what choice did I have? What other skills could I provide? I was not strong enough to be a hunter or warrior, so what use would I have outside the smoky, stinking, and clamoring confines of the city taverns? How could I possibly live successfully?
Those concerns disappeared the night the orcs raided. The tavern was full as usual, but after mere moments where patrons stood only corpses lay. As the carnage raged around me, I closed my eyes, hid the tremble in my voice, and continued to play, my melodies being drowned out by the thudding of weaponry into flesh. When the sounds of death died down, I stopped playing, and opened my eyes once more to see a score of orcs watching me closely. A lump of terror formed in my throat, and I cowered away as broad, rough hands closed in and bound me. I'm fairly certain I lost consciousness from the adrenaline and terror, but when I awoke, I was unbound and surrounded by orcs, with a roaring bonfire at my back. At my feet, however, was not rope, but a score of instruments, no doubt looted from other towns and taverns.
Watching my audience carefully, I picked up a set of bagpipes and inflated it. I remembered my teachings, and though it was never popular among the people, the old familiarity came back and I was filled with a desperate confidence in that moment. And so I began with The Green Hills of Tyrol, and watched as a sea of eyes grew wide with amazement. Behind me, I heard the cautious thud of drums that eventually grew louder and complimented the shriek of the pipes, and above the thud I heard a rhythmic chanting and grunting that grew to a furious crescendo. When I finished, I heard something I hadn't heard in a long time: applause and cheering. All around the encampment, orcs were thudding their chests, hooting, and hollering with enjoyment. Emboldened by this, I grabbed a banjo and began a quick strum. The drummers I heard thumped along in rough time, and a raucous celebration began among all attendees. In a loud, proud voice, I began to sing:
"Must it take a life for hateful eyes
To glisten once again
Five hundred years like Gelignite
Have blown us all to hell"
I continued to sing, and all around festivities erupted like water flooding down a gorged river. My smile grew, and the hours blended and flew by until it was dawn once more. When I ceased playing, I was led to their chieftain, a mountain of a being with scars and muscles covering his leathery skin.
"Never once have we come across one as skilled as you," he grumbled. He extended a meaty hand, and I shook it as firmly as I could. "Any of those graced by our gods with such gifts have long since passed, and those who have tried to follow their path have found nothing but frustration. You, however, have brought a joy to my people, one that we have been sorely lacking. Please, stay with us. Bring us this joy often, and I promise you a place among us befitting your skill." This expression of appreciation and compassion shocked me, and I considered my options, what few I had, and happily agreed.
From that day, I not only became their bard, but I became their teacher as well. Both young and old came to me, looking to learn the ways of song and instrument, and I took all comers gladly. Though I was a human, I became revered for my skills, and soon the encampment became a haven for orcish people everywhere and a hub of their society. While they still remain true to their nature and raid their enemies, they now have the thump of drums, the skirl of pipe, and the roar of joined voices to help bring them victory.
|
Well, I suppose I should have run. The tightness of this moldy bag stifles my breath. My breath, the gift of song and joy, all I can manage now are gasps. I can hear them grunting in some guttural language. From the belching I assume they took some barrels of beer with them amid the violence and the fire. The Patchy Dragon Inn is a smoldering memory now, and nobody will know what happened to Fjordo the Gilded Voice. The wagon bumps and creeks a little more now, we must be making our way into the valley of these savages. One particularly rough bump sends me forward, my face crashing painfully into what sounds like...my lute? Why the devil would they bring my lute? Perhaps a prize, a souvenir. The bastards! On of them pulls me upright and sits me back down. More grunting. It sounds angrier than before! Perhaps they won't wait until we get to their cave, or village, or whatever they live in. Maybe my life is over now. A cry to the ancients wouldn't save me. They've already cursed me with talent that no patron has ever appreciated. I couldn't even scrape together enough coin to pay off my room and get out of that damn hovel they had the nerve to call an inn. Suddenly, I feel the bag slacken and raise. Air! Glorious, precious air! The cool of the night is amazing, even the dread of seeing their stony expressions is paused for a moment. The moment is fleeting, now as dagger is being passed down to the one next to me. I shiver, uncontrollably. "No! Please! I beg of you!" My voice comes out shrill, warbling. I'm turned, the dagger is behind me now. I know the cold steel will tear my throat. One last struggle doesn't amount to much when you're bound by hand and foot. The Orc grunts and holds me down. This is it.... Or is it? My binds slacken as I feel the momentum of sawing. Perhaps they want sport first. I will have to move deliberately, slowly, lest I rouse their blood into frenzy like those fools did when this band of marauders first walked in the door. Fair to the Orcs, they hadn't come to start anything but a tab. They certainly finished things though. Nursing my wrists, I steal glances at them. They all seem to look serious, but there is an air of curiosity. I can't tell where we are, but I suppose that keeps me from running. One of them picks up my lute. No. "Unhand her!" I couldn't stop myself. Lucile is my only companion in this ugly, hard world; I can't lose her. I'll have to make my stand here and die with the last shred of dignity I have left. The brute studies me for a moment, unfazed, then turns her around, handing the neck to me. I'm completely floored as he begins mimicking me strumming, and grinning. Another taps me on the shoulder, and I find a cup of beer in my hands. Now they're all smiling. Not those bloodthirsty teeth from before. No, they look more like a bunch of children I used to entertain for practice as a lad. I've never seen anyone over ten happy to see my performances. Coughing a few times, I clear my throat and shakily raise my drink, taking a deep pull for courage. As I begin to pluck Lucile, I decide to improvise a new song. I think I'll call it "The Balled of Noble Outcasts."
| 2020-05-13T16:05:21
| 2020-05-13T16:01:01
| 63
| 22
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
So he walked into my 3B class, just like anyone else would. Kinda handsome, I guess, but overall pretty ordinary. Until he turned and I caught the number floating over his shoulder.
The big one-O.
I'm pretty sure I made a noise that would make a mouse call me a pussy, and I sweated through my T-shirt in five seconds flat. I had realized that the numbers I see could theoretically go that high, but the worst I had seen was a five on that kid who went to juvie.
I started looking around the room, wondering if I could make it out the window before the bullets started flying. But he sat down just like any other schmuck and the most deadly thing to come out of his backpack was a mechanical pencil, and only 0.5mm at that.
The rest of the day, hell, the rest of the week, I cramped up in my stomach whenever I saw him, but he made friends easy enough and the school-shooter-persona didn't seem to stick upon prolonged examination. I did consider calling the cops, but what was I gonna say? "Yes, officer, my magic danger-number-vision topped out on student John Doe over here, so I would feel a lot better if you arrested him for me." That's how you get a free trip to a place with three square meals per day and all the long-sleeved jackets you could want.
As the weeks turned to months, the terror of seeing the ten diminished, and I took less stock in my power. The kid was almost disappointingly normal. I graduated and didn't hear from him for a few years, other than that he went to some big state school a few hours away.
Next time I saw him, he was on TV, standing in front of a crowd of protesters, yelling about how congress was defunct, and needed to be gutted. And, hell, I couldn't disagree with him. At this point I figured his rating meant he would go extremist and blow something up, but again, I couldn't call the authorities on a hunch like that. Besides, I'm sure the FBI/CIA already had a file on him bigger than my textbook.
Then he got elected. Just a small state legislature spot, but it was enough to embolden his speeches. Again, I did nothing, hoping he would actually get into congress and get politically cock-blocked like every other young, enterprising politician.
Next thing I knew, he was Speaker of the House. I started getting very worried again, but I knew it was beyond my control. Just a few months later, the president and VP were both killed in immaculate, simultaneous terrorist attacks. The new president declared a righteous war against the Middle Eastern nations unfortunate enough to have the appropriate extremists within their borders. Which, funnily enough, was most of them.
As the war escalated, the president quickly stripped congress of obstructive factions, and soon the only representatives left were those who could march in step with the White House.
Now, I'm on my way to a meeting to determine my ineligibility for the draft. The bullet I put in my leg a few months ago helps my case.
|
The rest of the day I quietly followed him, trying to determine his secret. To no avail, nothing out of the ordinary, just some clumsy kid with middling mental capabilities. If he was exceptional in some way he was very good at hiding it.
By Friday I was going nuts. I ducked out as he went to the principals office, trying not to be too obvious. I waited inconspicuously at the bus stop, watching, and hoping he would tip his hand. Then I noticed it the Vice principals were walking toward me. But it couldn't be them, they had always been threes. They were both tens. What could have changed them, was it mind control, It felt like something out of bad sci-fi. Not that I could talk, seeing a danger score on everyone.
I decided to run, the VPs gave pursuit. And soon I was being dragged back to the school. I tried to explain that something was wrong with the new kid, that he was dangerous. A vice principal said we need to have a chat about stalking, as I continued to struggle against them dragging me off somewhere "quiet"
Then in a flash I understood, a sneeze, and suddenly dozens of students had turned to tens.
| 2014-11-29T13:14:54
| 2014-11-29T12:23:17
| 322
| 216
|
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
"Mimic other superpowers?"
"Taken, Number 7."
"Damn, thought that was a creative one..."
"It wasn't. Next choice?"
"Negate other sup-"
The scientist cuts me off. "18. Next?"
I sighed. What's left? Teleportation, mind reading, super strength... I'm sure those are all done. "Control computers with my mind?"
"43. And 48 is to disable electronics at will, 14 is to control electricity, and 93, which I thought was good, was to control and change the information communicated through any form of technology. No dice." She looked at her clipboard, then at the clock on the wall. "Time is wasting. And yes, #3 was time manipulation, but we nerfed it because it was a bit overpowered."
"Come on, can you help me out a little? You must have some ideas!"
"No."
"Is it against the rules or something?"
"No, but it won't matter if I did, and I'm frankly exhausted. Ive been dealing with psychos, megalomaniacs, idiots--I mean, who chooses the power to control cheese? What does that even mean?--and now you. I just want to get to the bunker before all hell breaks loose with enough energy to take a shower. Now choose!"
"Sheesh. Ok." I massaged my temples. Why doesn't anyone have any sort of compassion or empat... Wait. That's it! 99 others with their own super powers, ready to battle it out no matter the cost... what if?
"I want the power to instill people, regardless of proximity or other limitations, with a strong and permanent sense of empathy, compassion, and the ability to think critically."
|
"Welcome to the Super Powers Depot, what can i do for you?" The clerk never looked up from their smart device. They couldn't be any more disinterested in the task at hand yet were still complying with the bare essentials of the minimum wage day laborer.
"My name's John. I was chosen to come pick out a free super power..."
"...yeah, we got a few left over. You want the spaghetti hands?"
"I'm sorry, i said, super powers."
"Yeah, being able to make ones own dinner let alone a constant stream of spaghetti based dishes is a super power. You don't like ending world hunger one bowl at a time?"
"I guess that's not so bad when you put it like that but i was thinking something...more helpful to others."
"You're right, ending world hunger helps no one John. How about the ability to choose where you want to go to eat no matter who you're talking to and the choice you make is always 100 percent agreeable for everyone involved?" The clerk looked up from their device. The pain on their face was unmistakable. They were locked between too many choices on where to order food from. Stuck in an endless scroll on a food ordering app.
The clerk thought that seeing a picture of the food he desired would help but, nothing struck them as looking delicious. Nothing could satisfy the unknowable cravings of his stomach.
"My god, how long have you been stuck like this?" John took the smart device from in front of the clerk and began the most important scroll of his life. And then the doubt creeped in. "Wait, you haven't given me my powers yet. I don't know you or what you like; what your allergies are; spice preference? I don't...i can't make this decision...i just--it's impossible."
The clerk fell to their knees behind the counter. Hunger pangs starting to bang against their stomach lining like a heavy metal drummer taking over the song. They were able to weakly get a few words out. "The power...is in you. It has been...all...along."
John gazed upon the smart device once more and the decision immediately came to mind. "How bout this one?"
John laid the phone down on the counter and the clerk slowly stood back up. Tears began to stream down their face. "It's perfect. The balance of sides to entrees; the prices are all within a reasonable stretch of my budget. Thank you." The clerk was finally able to place their order.
As super powered beings put on impressive displays of power, over the years they drop to their knees and one by one they succumb to the only one capable of running the world. The only person who was capable of making the toughest decisions and saving everyone from the cold, bitter realm that is hunger. The one who brings salvation from starvation in any given situation: John.
| 2022-11-17T10:09:57
| 2022-11-17T07:26:44
| 35
| 14
|
[WP] Finally, you've moved out of your parent's place. Fairly close to your job, reasonable rent due the first of the month and a humble older gentleman for a landlord, what did it matter that a few of the other tenants weren't exactly fully human.
|
After shifting the last of the boxes, I slid my back down the wall of my new apartment and landed on the carpet with a thud. I looked around the studio apartment with a proud smile: my own place at last. The building I was in used to be a hotel but had been recently converted into an apartment complex.
I heaved myself up off the floor and wandered over to the box labelled 'Kitchen' in my clumsy handwriting, rummaging for the kettle, when I heard a knock on the door.
"Welcome! I am glad to see that you are settling in. My name is Harrold, I am one of the other occupants."
He had extremely pale skin and was dressed very formally in a top hat, waist coat and tailored suit, adorned with a monocle and a pocket square. So what if he was a bit eccentric? At least he was friendly.
"Nice to meet you Harrold, I'm Sam. Would you like to come in? I was just about to make a cup of tea?"
"No thank you," he replied, "I do not drink."
My brow wrinkled in confusion. Did he think I meant alcohol?
"I just wanted to let you know that we are having a welcoming party for you this afternoon," he continued quickly, "We hold one for all our new neighbours."
"Wow thanks! That's very kind of you. When is it?"
"Oh there is no hurry. As soon as you have finished unpacking and settling in then just make your way down to the ballroom on the ground floor."
"Ballroom?" I asked, but he was gone. There was nothing but empty corridor.
Confused, I closed my door and began to work on unpacking. I could hear loud swing music. I was surprised; I had envisioned a small gathering, not a full on party. As the party continued to gather momentum, it became increasingly difficult to concentrate. I tossed the instructions for the bed frame that I was trying to assemble onto the floor in frustration and decided just to join the party. Leaving the pieces in a jumbled heap, I headed downstairs.
The building's elevator was very old fashioned - it was one of those elevators with a sliding cage-like door - and was consequently out of use, so I took the stairs. From the entrance foyer, I followed the music.
I found myself in a huge room with a dusty chandelier on the ceiling. Looking around, I felt very underdressed in my ripped jeans and band-tee. Everyone was in flowing dresses and dinner suits. The room was full of people laughing and swirling in time with the music being played by a live band on a small, raised platform.
As I entered the room awkwardly, everyone turned to face me with large welcoming smiles. I noticed that the room was incredibly cold. Shivering, I wished that I'd brought a jacket. Harold drifted towards me through the crowd.
"I am so glad you came!" he said.
Looking around in bewilderment, I was slow to reply.
"I'm sorry, it's just a bit overwhelming. Did I miss the memo about fancy dress or something?" I laughed nervously.
"Not at all," he replied, "Please come and join us! Let me introduce you to everyone."
I turned to follow Harrold but tripped over the corner of the band's stage. He turned in alarm and reached out to catch me, but I fell straight through his arm and landed on the floor. Everyone gasped and the music stopped abruptly.
I shuffled backwards away from him, my eyes wide with fear.
"W- what's going on? Who- who are you?" I said in panic.
His head drooped with sadness.
"I am sorry. Please let me explain. When we heard that they were renovating this old hotel into flats we were so excited. We just wanted to meet the new people who were moving in."
"But, who are you?" I replied.
"This hotel burnt down in 1928. We were some of the guests and employees. We all died here, in the fire."
I was speechless. My mouth fell open in shock. I began to feel faint.
"Please do not panic," said Harrold, "We mean you no harm."
"What happened to the other people who moved in? Where are they?"
They all shared sad looks.
"They left, as soon as they found out that we were ghosts," said Harrold.
"Please don’t leave!" said a young woman stood next to Harrold, “We just want to know what life is like these days, outside these walls. We will not hurt you.”
---
My phone rang. I put down my cup of tea and answered it.
“Hello Dad”
“Hi Sam,” he replied, “How are you? How was your first week in the new place?”
“It’s great thanks. Everyone here is very friendly. The building has a lot of history too. I think I’ll fit in just fine.”
|
[Poem]
I'll tell you a story about my new friends,
they are, at my quarter, the other t'nants.
I've seen outlandish things mere words can't describe,
Yet I'll just try, although I'm not a scribe.
The first night I heard a sheer inhuman croak,
it came from another, lower-floor abode.
I went down the stairs in quivering fear,
yet I ended up sharing with a fishman a beer.
Another time I've seen eldritch coloured lights,
shining through my window in the dead of night.
A glowing mass of snouts, arms and things unknown,
just sat in the frontyard all alone.
I readied my shotgun and opened my window,
to be greeted by it in terrible crescendo:
"G'day, Sir", it said, "sorry to disturb ya peace -"
"Could you open the front door, I think I lost my keys"
The list could continue, it's plain to tell,
there's old man Erich, and "Squid-face" as well,
At first I though I ended in lovecraftian hell,
yet in the end, it turned out, they're all kinda swell.
| 2019-04-15T02:49:03
| 2019-04-14T22:51:35
| 47
| 19
|
[WP] Upon becoming an adult, everyone is granted a wish. However, whatever they wish for will be doubled next week and quadrupled the week after, continuing every week for the rest of their lives. This process cannot be stopped.
|
Don't wish for *anything*.
Why? Okay, here's an example: Let's say you wish for a single *atom* of hydrogen.
About 78 weeks later, you've got an entire gram of hydrogen. I know, you're not impressed. Just stay with me here.
About 10 weeks after that, you've got a kilogram.
Well, you might think, this is coming along nicely. Let's just let our hydrogen grow for another 10 weeks.
Incidentally, do you know how much a **mega**gram is? Well, you do now, because that's how much hydrogen you have.
Let's cut to the chase again, shall we? You've got about a year after this point, give or take a few months, until there's more hydrogen on Earth than literally *anything*.
Seventeen weeks. That's how long you have after this until enough hydrogen's been created / gathered to start forming another star.
So, three years. You make that one wish for the tiniest possible thing you could think of, and it takes three years to destroy the entire planet. So, like I said before:
**Don't. Wish. For. Anything!**
Wait, what? What do you mean you already wished for something? You fool! You've doomed us all!
Oh, you wished for me to be done with this annoyingly long explanation and stop bothering you?
Oh.
Um....
Okay.
|
"What is your wish?"
I had thought about this. Every adult getting a wish had seriously affected my life. Everything was plentiful. What would I even need? "What are the rules to this wish?"
"Every week your wish shall be doubled," said the omnipotent Voice ringing in my head. Of course, the voice didn't wait until after my girlfriend had left the room. She was still laying next to me, slowly realizing the Voice was talking to me.
"I got my wish after I bought my first car. I wished for a twenty dollar bill to provide for my family," said my dad.
"I got my wish after I saw your sister. I wished for safety so i could see everyone grow to an old age." said my mother.
Of course, they ruined any wishes I could think of. Trusts were put in my sister and my name so we would never want money for anything. Our mother made us damn near immoral, only dying at old age or disease, both almost removed from existence by others' wishes. Food was delicious and plentiful from those that wished for that sort of stuff.
I could travel; wish to have travel plans and see the world. I would wish for a girlfriend, but that was already a horror story from another friend.
"Do I have to wish for something?" I asked.
"Yes."
I thought for a moment. "I wish for a grain of sand to be in my pocket."
| 2017-08-10T10:08:49
| 2017-08-10T08:55:18
| 53
| 36
|
[WP] Write a horror story which takes place in broad daylight or an otherwise well lit setting
|
Sunburns.
That's what we used to call them. That's all they were, back then. But now, everything is different. Now we shun the outdoors.
It started out innocuously enough. The sunburns got worse. They hurt more, and lasted longer. They developed faster. It got to the point that just the barest hint of sunlight could burn.
Then they stopped going away. They didn't fade, and they say the burning is like no pain ever felt before. The burned are an awful group of people. Those who don't kill themselves are driven mad by the pain. They live in the light. The rest of us fear it.
---
My mom tells me stories about the daylight. She says you could feel it tickling your skin. It was warm, and soft, and inviting. She tells lots of stories, about how it used to be. But it's all just stories. I've never seen any of it myself, I was born a year or two after it happened.
We don't really know exactly what happened. It could be the ozone layer, or the sun could have changed or something. Or it could be a virus. My friend says it's probably a curse, but I don't think so. I think it's God. Lots of people do. They think God cast us out of the light, like a new Garden of Eden. I don't know about all that, but it just seems to me like the sort of thing that only God could do.
Today's my sixteenth birthday and dad said he'd take me out to see the fields. I've seen them at night, but never during the day. During the day, we have to use the suits to go outside. Dad's never let me wear one before, but today's the day!
---
"Come on buddy, you don't want to be late!" Dad called out to me from the living room.
"Coming dad!" I quickly pulled on the last of my gear before running out the door.
"Let's get suited up." The suits hung on the wall, and next to the familiar pair that belonged to mom and dad was a new one. Shiny and green, my favorite color. My jaw dropped
"Dad! You guys got me my own suit! Thank you so much!" I couldn't believe it. We were pretty well off, but buying a new suit was expensive. The suits had to go through a lot of treatment to protect you outside.
"No problem, buddy. You deserved it, now come on, we've got to go." We both finished getting ready quickly, and walked through the front door into the entry room. "Why don't you get the door, bud."
I reached out my gloved arm and grabbed the door handle. I've gone through this door so many times, but there's never been a horrible death waiting on the other side. All I've ever wanted is to be in the sunlight, but it was still terrifying. I must have stood there for an hour, just trying to get up the courage. Okay, it was probably more like 15 seconds, but it really dragged. I finally pushed open the door and stepped into the sun for the first time in my life.
---
Let me tell you, the one thing I remember best about that morning is sweat. A lot of it.
"Dad, is it normal to be this hot in here?" I seriously cannot stress enough hot freaking hot it was in this suit.
"NO! Something is horribly wrong! Oh god, who could have thought that the giant flaming ball of gas that heats our planet. That this enormous sphere made of explosions that causes horrendous burns on any who dare touch its weakest castoff might be HOT!? THE HUMANITY!"
"Hah. Hah. Hah. Oh my sides. My sides." Dad was the funny one in the family.
That morning is one of my best memories. It was just dad and me wandering the fields, talking about how it all worked, and getting me used to the suit. You weren't very fast, but you were safe. The sunlight was amazing. It was everything I thought it would be, and all I wanted was to rip off that suit and bask in the sun like in mom's stories.
"Alright buddy, it's time to head back." Always one to kill the mood, dad.
The sun beat down on us as we started the 3 mile trek back to the house. The world was silent aside from the crunch of our boots on the
"Let's go through the forest, get out of this direct light. Besides, you've never seen a tree in daylight, have you?"
"Not yet." The forest was only a half mile out of the way. It was the last vestige of wilderness in our farmed-to-death area. I loved playing in there at night as a kid.
It was just like I pictured. Idyllic and green, the leaves rustled in the wind and the trees swayed to the rhythm of silent music. I ran off into the trees to see the world for the first time. Further and further into the forest I ventured, following the sunlight. I couldn't hear a lot of the real world inside my suit, but my dad's scream came through loud and clear on the radio.
I was frozen. I didn't call out for him or cry or scream. I just stood there. There was no question of what had happened, but it was too late to save him now. All that was left was to run.
So I ran as fast as I could inside the now hugely bulky and cumbersome suit. Minutes before it was uncomfortable but safe, but it had turned into my death. I ran away from the screaming. Away from home and safety. Away from them.
---
"Don't run!" "You're ours now!" The voices came to me through the radio. Behind them, I could hear others. Screaming in agony and rapture, there was maniacal laughter and screeches of hatred. The primal sounds of baser emotions. They were insane, and they were coming for me.
The voices didn't stop, and I couldn't turn them off. I could only keep running. But I couldn't keep running anymore. When you can't go outside you don't tend to get a ton of exercise, and I was hitting my limit. I hid under some bushes, but the suit is hard to hide.
"I heard him over there!" The voices weren't on the radio this time, and they were close.
The world turned upside down and my stomach turned inside out as I was pulled to my feet. I was shoved face-to-face with their leader. His face, if you could call it that, was a mess, and I can only guess his body was no better. The flesh was charred and melted. His jaw was visible in places and the skin drooped off the bones.
"Time to join us in the sun, boy. It's only natural." Two of the equally scarred and burnt men approached me with a hideous glint in their eyes.
"Please, no. I don't want to die." I squeezed my eyes shut, and prayed to God to help me.
"Die!? We're not going to kill you, boy. We're going to set you free! Humans belong outdoors in the sun, my friend." The burned man grew closer. He pressed his hideous visage to the glass of my suit. "Don't you want to be free, eh?" I could almost smell his flesh burning.
"DON'T YOU WANT TO BE LIKE YOUR OLD MAN!?" At this, the man's grin widened. He got a crazed look in his eye, and embraced me in a hug.
"I- What?"
"Don't you recognize me, buddy? You're sixteen now, it's time to step into the sun!"
"Dad?" It couldn't be him. This man was broken and scarred. He must have been like this for years. The fat was dripping from his bones and the muscle was melting. It couldn't be dad. It couldn't be! "What's wrong with you? Why?"
"They've shown me the light! Now it's your turn" He motioned to the two men, who grabbed me and held me still. He slowly unbuckled my suit, as I strained against the walking corpses. I screamed for help, but there was none near. My helmet came loose, and peeled away.
The sunlight was blinding. It was so warm.
|
It was the third day when the ants found me.
The sun was up, but not too far, though it already burned. The skin on my face was redder than a lobster and cracked like old plaster, and every movement made it burn. I blinked my eyes, though it brought no relief - I hadn't had a drink of water in more than 48 hours, and I had no moisture left for tears.
I woke with the feeling of something wriggling inside my ear. Instinctively I tried to reach up and get it out, though of course I couldn't move. The wriggling, scratching feeling moved deeper inside my head, and I clenched my jaw, trying to squeeze my ear shut from the inside out. This was met with an intense, stinging heat inside my ear - whatever it was had bit me. I screamed, my throat rattling open like a rusty garage door, but the sound that came out was nothing but a hoarse, breathy whisper. Even as the pain exploded in my head, a thought raced across my brain - *Jesus, is that what I sound like now?*
My muscled spasmed in a useless display of neural activity, but I was held tight - my limbs couldn't move an inch. I could only watch, helpless, as an ant crawled up my neck and perched on the tip of my cracked, burned, swollen nose.
It waggled its antennae around in the air, investigating the new potential food source it had found. My eyes crossed as I tried to focus on it. It was reddish brown, with a slightly blacker rear end and a large, almost square head. Its tiny black eyes seemed to stare into mine.
I had a flashback to my childhood in rural New Mexico, when a boy I'd known in my first grade class had been playing in the scrub on the edge of the desert and fallen onto a fire ant nest. He'd needed to be hospitalized for days, and the scars that the stings left on his body were extensive and disgusting. The day after it happened, our teacher had shown us a blown-up picture of a reddish-brown ant on the overhead projector and told us never to play near these ants, that their stings were poison and felt like fire, that people had died from getting stung by them.
It was now that I began to scream in earnest.
Over the next few minutes more of the ants found me, undeterred by my screaming and my pathetic attempts to thrash my head and shake them off. I could feel their feet scuttling over the cracked remnants of my scalp, and their tiny jaws working at the flaky pieces of my skin that peeled off my cheeks like old paint.
Unbidden - maybe in an attempt to block out the pain - my mind retreated to the events of two days ago. It was sundown, and the men with shovels had finished their work. They tamped the red dirt down around my neck, and I could feel it pressing in on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. The third man was sitting on the tailgate of the pickup truck they'd used to drag me out to God-knows-where in the middle of the desert. He stood up, his dusty cowboy boots raising little clouds where he stepped. He leaned down next to me, his knees in the dirt, his mouth right up next to my ear, so close that I could hear him breathing, that I could feel the hot wetness of his breath condensing on my skin. He whispered, "Maybe in your next life you'll know not to piss me off."
He stood, signaled to the men, and they were gone. I watched the tail lights of the truck bounce further and further into the distance, until they went over a rise and were gone for good.
I cried then, which was a mistake as the water ran out of my eyes and pooled into the dirt at my chin. I cursed myself for stupid mistakes that I couldn't unmake, and somewhere in that time I fell asleep.
The pain in my skin brought me back to the present. There were more ants now, crawling on my face and neck. I felt them slowly proceed up my nose, and I struggled to keep my mouth shut - though that just encouraged them to gnaw on the skin of my lips. I could barely breathe without screaming.
Then I heard a noise behind me. Tires. Rescue. Thank God.
I couldn't turn, but I began to speak in a harsh, raspy voice that I barely believed was my own. "Oh god, thank god you're here, please help me..." I was babbling, incoherent, the pain fogging my brain. The ants started to bite me on the inside of my nose.
I heard footsteps walking closer behind me, and again I sobbed, "Please..." But then I stopped, because I saw the feet that the footsteps belonged to. Dusty cowboy boots that raised small clouds of dirt with each step.
"Hey boys," he shouted back towards the pickup truck that I knew was behind me, "grab the camera! I want people to see what they'll get when they screw with *me!*"
| 2013-10-09T17:24:36
| 2013-10-09T16:55:36
| 49
| 12
|
[WP] You are a professional Matchbreaker. The opposite of a matchmaker, you're hired by concerned friends, disapproving parents, jealous exes, desperate nerds, and everyone in between to break up an existing relationship from the shadows.
|
They say that once upon a time our profession was obscure, and that private individuals would hire one of us to test a single, specific relationship, just like the services of the fire department and the Post Office were once provided by small private groups for specific paying customers.
I don’t know exactly how true that ever was, but now we are seen as providing a service to the general public, so that if your relationship is doomed, we’ll help you realize it quickly. And if your relationship is meant to go the distance, our intervention will help you realize that, just like the irritation from a grain of sand helps an oyster to form a pearl.
I didn’t care too much about the history; I just knew that I was due to work my shift at a beer garden during a concert. I slipped on the traditional navy blue windbreaker that said “INSECURITY” across the back in gold letters and started to work.
“Did you *mean* to wear that shirt with those pants? Was that outfit the result of an actual set of conscious decisions?” I asked the first random couple I ran into. They weren’t sure which one I was addressing, and frankly, neither was I, but the guy started to look flushed, and she looked at him through narrowed eyes. I was off to a good start.
I walked ahead a few tables to another random couple and let fly my trademark “Realistically, is there *any* chance that you two are still a couple in six months?” They started to protest, but we were all surprised by the sound of the musicians starting ahead of schedule.
I was annoyed, because all I could do during the music was to try to catch people’s eye and then make the universal “You’ve got something stuck between your teeth...no...still there...no...still there” gesture. That makes my job harder, but at least the music was top notch tonight. The band was doing its part, and I was doing mine.
|
"This is target. He's becoming a problem. We want him dealt with using a soft measure"
A folder lands on my table. Covered in labels and warnings of it's confidential status, I recognize this as one of the many files the ministry keeps on its citizens loyal and dissident.
"If there's anything you'd like, please let us know"
I turn the folder open and flicker through the documents, scrutinizing every last nook and detail collected. John Smith. Age 24. Education masters of journalism, Seaside Heights Institute of Technology, member of the small classic car club, frequently orders pizza, blood type, financial status, past drug prescriptions, past romantic interests, religious views, allergies, accidents, family history, **marriage**.
"I think you should make him love you. String him along and play with him. Might be hard with that wife of his" one handler advises with eyes covering me revealing his vices.
That's what I'm looking for. What better to distract someone from their job than some intimacy. One requisition and every file I ask for is handed to me, stacking six high on a tower.
Jane Smith, dee Doe. Age 21. Sheet after sheet of her, her friends, and her parents stack on a row.
&#x200B;
It's time to set it into action. With all the preparation ready, and a thousand eyes on our lovely couple we set the stage for the grand show.
A purposely vigilant traffic cop, a sudden need to withdraw cash. The moment the bills come from her account my colleague snatches to dash. Mister Smith gives chase into an alley where Mrs Smith will witness him beaten and humiliated, ready to emasculate with a single slash.
And where I take the stage as I trip him and pull some kicks and punches. "Make it look good! Don't hold back!" he'd tell me as we practiced this little fight in a quiet room of our building. I give him quite a thwack.
I grab the money and he trips me up to land bottoms onto some dirty and grime. Perfect for me to feign my humility and embarrassment at stopping this crime.
&#x200B;
Mrs Smith immediately fell to my orbit. And why shouldn't she? I looked a ringer for her daring young lover. A little repressed truth which she suppressed from Mister Smith. Her young childhood love. An strong best friend who protected her little dove. A well kept secret in her heart.
But never from our ministry, never from our bureau who dressed me up like her Valkyrie friend who passed too soon. I'll do whatever it took to make her swoon.
&#x200B;
With my plan falling into place, I exposed my ripped lace and laid the foundation to enter their space. Where we exchanged names and sparked a conversation, I could quickly tell her disinterest in her hubby.
She loved the high life and its upholstered stores, yet lacked the finance and felt a bore. It was an opportunity to clean up my dirt. "Oh fifteen minutes John it wouldn't hurt"
It was all I needed to make her mine. Like a false shepherd who leads a flock astray, for hours at a time I'd take her away. Away from a hubby she learned to despise, for his inability to compromise. "Please John, just find a regular job" "No honey! The government is a mob!"
&#x200B;
A safe place is where she needed to be. With people to talk to that charged no fee. A place where my people surrounded. And isolated. From friends who could affirmed her of doubts. So we could arrange a trip to as her husband was hounded. As we planted evidence of her illegal bouts.
&#x200B;
All for her husband to rout. His publications erratic and he grew depressed and stout. We could delay his medication until he took a way out.
&#x200B;
For a man like Smith didn't need my love to break. Where soon he'd have troubles and a wife to forsake.
| 2021-12-16T17:42:42
| 2021-12-16T16:40:59
| 86
| 63
|
[WP] You're a first year student at Hogwarts, and you're taking a painting class. As you try to animate your first painting ever, things go horribly wrong.
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"Kill me!" The painting shrieked in agony.
I knew I was a bad painter but I thought I was pretty spot on with this Picasso. Maybe that was the problem.
The screams became cries as the painting started smashing its head against the invisible window of the paintings borders.
"I can fix you I promise"
The faux Picasso continued to smash the invisible barrier, until a shattering sound like ice pierced the room. It's head was through.
"Ahhhhhhhhh" it scream as it clawed its way from the portrait. "Kill me!" Paint drip from its edges like blood. What could have been a tear fell from the asymmetrical eye, red and green and yellow falling to the ground.
"Rigidum!" Professor Ross waved his wand back and forth, erasing the tortured soul from existence. In its place were little eggs, and as I watch in bewilderment they started to turn and hatch.
"If you make a mistake, make it a little bird instead." Lectured Professor Ross.
I should have taken an easier elective like Care of Magical Creatures.
|
---
Okay, I can do this. I know the wand movements, the incantation. All of it.
This painting here of Professor Dumbledore is quite marvelous, and I just can't mess it up! Oh, what if something goes wrong?
I have to be optimistic about this! If I'm not, the spell will go wrong. I can do this.
Oh man, Johnny over here already animated his! Ah, look at his cat Buttersnaps walk around. It's so life-like! He's so good at everything here, it's almost like he's been practicing his whole life.
Argh, no! No distractions. I have to do this now!
One..
Two..
Three!
..
Why..
Why is Headmaster Dumbledore doing that? I had no idea he could hula dance.
Oh gosh, the Professor is headed this way! What do I do?!
I think.. I should try casting the spell again. And not mess up this time! Yeah!
One..
Two..
Three!
..
Wow. I didn't know he could do that either. Is he.. Is that.. Gangnam Style?
No, this is all wrong!
One..
Two..
Three!
No, no, no! Not the dougie! That's not even popular in muggle culture anymore!
One..
Two..
Three!
Oh, come on! How would the Headmaster even know what the whip is!
---
| 2015-06-26T11:49:51
| 2015-06-26T11:40:42
| 97
| 14
|
[WP] A man single handedly destroyed North Korea. No refugees, no prisoners, he killed all of them.
How did he do it? How did the world react to the massacre? Is he a hero or a true villain?
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The man had killed on average 100 people a day. He had long ago lost touch with the true scope of his genocide. The North Korea before his massacre had housed approximately 24.76 million people. The man wondered how he had lived so long. He was now 696 years old, having started his personal crusade at the age of eighteen. He wondered what god had given him such a purpose to grant him this extremely long life. The man had concluded long ago that it must have been a stupid god to envision such a scenario for a mere man like himself. He wondered if the god had known how unbelievable and beyond human scope such a task was. Surely no true characterization or development could be focused on when taken in contrast to the unbelievable feat he had accomplished.
The world had reacted with amazement, shock, disbelief. Mass suicides had occurred at the beginning, but by now they were forgotten. Twenty-seven generations had passed since the beginning of his battle. The man's long life had called into question every tenet of science and philosophy upon which every civilization had built their logical structure. North Korea had become a land where breeding held no purpose, yet had still been carried out for centuries in a futile attempt to prevent the inevitable end of a country years ago defined by cruel dictators. In the more than half a millennium that had passed since the beginning of the genocide, North Korea had adopted democracy, engaged in the privatized space industry, and were even the first to perfect nuclear fusion in a partnership with South Korean scientists. No amount of restitution could have rid them of the blood debt tasked to be collected by the man.
Now at the end, the man looks up towards the sky and asks god "why op would you choose such a stupid fucking scenario like this, and why would 9 people upvote it". His question went unanswered, for any answer would be insufficient to justify the initial action of pressing submit.
|
I remember being told that doing the right and the wrong thing sometimes can be one in the same. Well, honestly, I think that's a load of bullshit.
It was seven years. Seven long goddamn years of building tensions and building silent fear that made you feel like someone was breathing down your neck every day. I thought the whole world was going to go insane, and it almost did. You think the Cuban Missile Crisis was bad? Hell, that North Korean bullshit made that look like a few fucking nerf rockets being raised in the air.
Then there I was, after seven years of listening, waiting, and watching everyday for North Korea to make its move the button was there. It was your stereotypical big red button right in the heart of the pentagon. I swear to God it whispered to me, it called me over in a mocking voice, telling me to just end it all. The next thing I knew red lights are blaring and sirens are going off, and behold there was my finger, right on top of the goddamn button.
It only took one missile too. You know that Tsar Bomb shit the Russians had? Yeah, we made one so big it only took one of the fuckers to wipe them all out. One minute and twenty seconds is all it took for over fifty million to blink an eye and then be gone. To tell you the truth, I don't even think it was me, I mean that goddamn button was making fun of me and all, laughing and mocking me.
So here I stand, in front of all the world leaders and their pretentious little frowns. Alot of people wanted to kill me too, which was a real surprise to me honestly. I've told all these courts the same shit I've told you, but even though I killed the bad guys, it seems like they all still hate me. I told them they should be grateful, now everyone doesn't have to worry anymore. Now we can all just go back to the way things used to be, just pretend everything is back to normal. I've told them all this before, but they just don't listen, it really gets on my nerves too.
"Do you understand what you're sentence is?" asked some old guy.
I didn't answer, I didn't feel like it, really.
"Do you remember murdering your son and wife before breaching international security and peace?" the old fucker asked again.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that someone had murdered my family. I told you the world was going insane, lucky I was here to help though.
"On 50 million counts of murder, one count of breaching international security and peace, one count of breaking international treaties, you have deemed criminally insane and are hereby sentenced to death, you may go now."
Thats all they had to say? What hypocrites. They would've pressed that same button if it came down to it. I just sort of sped up the process a bit.
You know how I said that doing the right and wrong thing goes hand in hand? Well, I know this time I'd done the right thing, I know I had, I know it. I made the world a better place, but I tell ya, the world really is going nuts. They all hate me and think I'm the loony. When in reality, I'm the only sane guy they have left.
edit: Hopefully this isn't pure trash :)
| 2014-04-12T14:02:38
| 2014-04-12T13:53:35
| 103
| 14
|
[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
The sleeping pebble was known as a rest stop for weary travelers from all walks of life. No matter what side of the pointless war you were on, you would always find a hot meal and bed at the inn. Hestia considered her inn a haven, a place where true peace could develop. No matter what god you fought for, you were always welcome.
Hestia wandered through the thick forest, pulling along a cart of supplies with her right hand. Her gaze focused on the rising black smoke in the distance. “The war is getting rather close. Perhaps I should send my brothers and sisters a letter? Maybe there’s a misunderstanding about where my inn is located?”
Hestia didn’t consider the possibility that the other gods were ignoring her wishes to be excluded from the war. The other gods were childish and dangerous, but they weren’t that stupid. Hestia, believing they still honored the family hierarchy. She was the first daughter of Cronus. She doubted any of them had forgotten that.
As she made her way into the clearing, the sight of a burnt down inn greeted her. The scolding remains of stained black wood and ashes littering the floor. For a moment, she assumed it was an illusion, a harsh prank by one of her family. Releasing the cart, she approached, crouching before the ash, letting her fingers run against it.
“Why would they do this?” Her fingertip stained in the light grey of the ash, leaving a light marking. “No mortal could burn this inn down. I made certain of that. Savos? Milsa? Are you two alive?” Hestia called out to her workers, only to hear no response. The inn an eerily silent pile of rubble. No music, no laughter or chatter, just silence.
“They killed them. The inn I could excuse, but you can’t rebuild a life.” Hestia couldn’t even find the bodies among the destruction, the poor humans punished for wanting a life of peace like she did. She said a silent prayer to them, promising she would speak to Hades about this.
“Come now, sister, you have a reason to fight. You can get a new inn and you can get new servants. Now isn’t the time for grieving, it’s time for war.” A booming voice came from behind, as two feet landed on the ground behind her. The person behind her giving off an aura that made her brown hair stand up.
“Did you do this, Zeus?” Her words were soft, not even turning to stare at the man, only watching the destruction before her.
“It wasn’t just me. We hate seeing you waste your potential like this. We are shaping the world, sending the humans to fight under our names. If you don’t join in, you may get forgotten. My army’s winning, just so you know. Maybe if you ask kindly, I’ll offer you a territory to help you get started.”
Hestia stood up, turning to face her brother. She stepped closer to him, closing the distance between the two.
“That’s more like it. Come, I have a town called Zulus that you would love.” Zeus went to lead her, only to feel a feverish hand grip his neck. Hestia staring into her brothers’ eyes, as the flesh on her arm bubbled from the heat. If her own flesh couldn’t handle the heat, she could only imagine what it was doing to the throat of Zeus.
Her brother struggled, firing a bolt from the heavens. The bolt crackled against the top of her head, sending its volts through her, only to leave her unmoved. The heat in her palm causing his throat to sizzle. Zeus confidence turning into fear as he kicked at his sister, trying to break free from the hold.
“Did I not make myself clear about this, brother? I warned you all about what would happen if my request wasn’t met. You killed two dear friends of mine. Not servants, friends. Savos and Milsa, two people who I will ask for forgiveness from once I end this war.” With that, she dropped her brother, tossing him to the floor.
“E-end the war?” He coughed, trying to hold his throat. Whenever his fingers would touch his throat, he would be forced to let go, not even able to tend to his wound because of the heat still radiating off it.
“Yes, I’m going to make sure there is no one left to fight. I will start again with humanity. You all have tainted them.” Hestia took a seat on the ground, placing her palms against the Earth, focusing on the planet’s core. “Perhaps I will find a new family, too.”
Hestia knew she would need to work quickly. While she may have been the strongest, she was not invincible. If the others found out about this and attacked, she wouldn’t be able to fend them all off. With her focused touch, the Earth warmed, the odd shot of fire breaking through the ground, causing much confusion on the battlefields.
“What are you doing, sister? Have you gone mad?” Ares landed his Pegasus chariot before her, drawing a golden handled blade. Before he could raise the blade, a small shot of lightning hit his thumb, causing him to drop the weapon.
“She has the planet at her mercy. You would be foolish to attack her. Listen closely sister, if you do this, all those precious humans you love so much will be dead.” Zeus attempted to reason with her, knowing that there couldn’t be a war without an Earth.
“I understand your anger, sister, but this won’t bring back those you lost. Gods are made to command wars. It’s a part of our lives.” A new voice spoke to the group. The voice belonging to Demeter, her voice echoing into the minds of the gods through the earth they touched.
“A way of life? Then let me win this war. If I kill everyone, I win. Is that not how bloodshed works?” Hestia kept her finger on the trigger, glancing at the two gods before her.
“No, war is about making a person kneel before your feet in surrender.” Ares explained, finding his aunts understanding of the subject rather lacking.
“Then kneel.”
“No, not us. You want the humans to kneel. You can rule over them then. Don’t you want to indulge in the riches of life? Humans are nothing but creatures for us to exploit.” Zeus only infuriated Hestia further, the ground beneath them igniting before Ares dropped to his knees.
“Very well Auntie, if surrender is what you wish, then I have no choice.” Ares got to his knees before looking at Zeus, the proud god refusing to bow.
“If you keep standing, all of those indulgences will perish.” Hestia reminded him. “Bow and tell Hermes to inform the other gods that this war of theirs is over. I am the victor.”
Zeus watched his sister, ready to call her bluff, only for the heat of the Earth to cause him to sweat. For him to be sweating, her fury must have been hotter than the core itself. He dropped to his knees, bowing his head.
Shortly after, Hermes delivered the confirmation that the others had ended their wars. With that, Hestia removed her hands. Standing up, turning to the damaged inn. She hoped her two friends had kept the coins she had given them to pay for Charon’s fare. If not, she would have to search the banks for them.
“I will rebuild my inn. The rest of you go about your duties. If I hear even a murmur about a war in the next century, you will have to deal with me. Is that understood?” She was sure Hermes would pass her threat on while the gods in attendance gave their nods. With that, they left, leaving her with the rubble.
She could finally breathe a sigh of relief when they left. Her bluff had worked. She honestly didn’t think her family would believe her. She would never want to kill all of humanity, not after she had seen how lovely they could be. That would violate the trust of her friends. With the war over, she began unloading her cart, planning to use the supplies inside to rebuild her inn.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
|
Do you feel that, zos?
Do you remember when we came to earth?
Oh how beautiful it was. It had been so long in the blackness. Do you even remember the blackness? I do. Oh how they worshiped us.
Our father knew his mistake as soon as he birthed me. That was how all of this started.
Are you feeling it, now?
Alright then. Let me tell you a story.
A long time ago there was a planet. For a long time on this planet. Then, suddenly, something would. Creatures would walk. They would roam. They'd eat. They'd give birth. They'd care for their young.
And then those creatures would evolve. What had at first been simple. Primal. Would become more complex. More layered. This would bring complications, of course. But, not too many that they wouldn't have the chance to grow out of it.
Then, they'd turn their gaze upwards. And they'd leave.
You younger gods, and your toys. Fire. Lighting. Death.
You never understood.
I'm not going to take myself away from you. No. I am not that cruel. And honestly, for my intended purposes I've found that be counter productive.
No. Instead, you're going to feel everything you should have. Every child you've left. Every sibling you've hurt. Every family you've destroyed. I find the bonds of war are forged on disconnection more than anything else.
I may throw in a little bit extra. Just to remind you.
Father may have devoured me, but by then it was already too late. You may have split Cronus's stomach, but you would do well to remember the one who saved *you*, little brother.
| 2022-02-06T03:49:27
| 2022-02-06T02:57:16
| 956
| 103
|
[WP] A serial killer has abducted you, but says you may go free if you can convince nosleep that you truly need help. The sub is your only contact with the outside world.
|
872-52-3381. That's my social security number. It's real too. Seriously, check it. I have a few thousand dollars in my bank account and few thousand more in credit. It's all yours. If you want, you can put me under a mountain of debt I will ever climb out of. But before you do that, please help me.
My name is Alan Schriar and I'm locked in a dark room with only a laptop to light the way. I don't know how I ended up here. The last thing I remember is bringing home groceries from the local Cub Foods in Fulton, Missouri. Then, nothing. I woke up here not too long ago with instructions to post here. Whoever kidnapped me told me that I had all the information you guys would need to save me.
Look, I know this is strange, but my cellphone is gone, and I'm pretty sure I'm being watched. I don't know what's going to happen to me if you guys don't help and I don't want to find out.
Please guys. Could someone at least submit a police report?
---
W432342234182. That's my driver's license number. My birthday is January 19, 1994. Yeah, I'm a Capricorn. Nobody responded to my last post, I don't think you guys believe me. My kidnapper, he doesn't think so either. He says that if nobody responds soon, he's going to have to punish me.
I don't know that that means. But please guys. I'm scared. My fingers are shaking so much it's hard to type. My kidnapper is definitely male. I never got a good look at him, only heard his voice.
Guys, I know this seems like a stupid scam or some trick. I don't know what you think this is nor do I know what kind of things people post here, but please, I'm begging you. I'm scared.
Check my driver's license number. Check my birthday. Check my social security. It's all true. Someone, god damn it. I'm begging you. Please.
---
The walls are cement? I'm not actually sure. I've never been one to care about that type of thing. I spent more time staring at a computer screen than wondering what kind of walls my apartments had. But there can't be that many cement buildings around, right?
The guy's name is Roger, at least that's what he says. I think I'm still in Fulton. He had a southern accent so we're at least in the south.
He... he hurt me. I don't want to get into the details, but it fucking hurts and if I don't go to a hospital soon, I don't know.
Look, just pick up the phone, dial 9-1-1 and report me missing. That's all I ask. I'm begging you to do so. You don't have to find me, you don't have to solve this crime, just let the police know that I'm in trouble.
At least comment. Roger's watching. He's always watching. If you just comment, maybe he won't punish me again. I'm not asking for much. You don't have to call the cops, you don't have to find me, just comment on this post. PLEASE!
---
You want to know what he did to me? You want to know what happened because you fuckers didn't have the god damn decency to even leave a comment!? I'll give you a hint. I'm typing with one hand you pieces of shit. He broke them all, my fingers. First it was my pinky and then when nobody commented on my posts, he took the rest of them. He did it with a door, held my finger to the door and slammed it shut, one by one.
Fuck you guys. Fuck you. You pieces of shit, you're letting me die. You're killing me!
I got a good look at the guy. He's bald, green eyes(?), about 5'6'', which is my height. He's a skinny guys, probably weighs 120 and he injected me with something. It makes me weak, not able to fight him off.
Report this. Do it. How great do you think you'll feel when my name turns up in the local newspaper? Alan Schriar found dead after over eleven million people ignored his cries for help.
You thought this was a prank? You think this is a joke? Well fuck you. I'm telling you its not. It's not!
Call the cops. Look for me. Cement building, oak doors, working electricity, and in Fulton. There can't be too many buildings like that. Do it!
But before you do. Leave a comment. For the love of God just leave a god damn comment.
---
He says this is my last chance. The clock on the laptop reads 3:34 AM, but it started at midnight when I turned it on so I doubt that's right. I don't know if it's night or morning or if somewhere along the way I fell asleep and it's an entirely different day.
You want to know what he took from me next? My toes. He did it with garden shears. Then he bandaged them real tight, even gave me antibiotics so they don't get infected. It hurts so bad. I can't even twitch without the pain stabbing me over and over again.
Leave a comment. Just comment guys, I'm begging you. You can take all my money, use my credit card, just leave a comment. Don't call the cops, don't try to find out where I am, just leave a FUCKING COMMENT!
Seriously. This isn't a joke. I don't know what I can say to convince you that this isn't a joke.
My name is Alan Schriar. My social security number is 872-52-3381. My birthday is January 19, 1994. I play the guitar in my spare time. I drink coffee at the Caribou on the corner of Sherman and Dunhill. I just started dating this girl I met on Tinder, Mariah. She's cute.
Leave a comment. Even if it's to tell me this is bullshit, even if its to tell me that you're going to take everything I have and not do shit to help me. Just leave a comment. That's it. That's all I'm asking for.
Please.
---
EDIT: Hello friends. My name is Roger. I just want you to know that Alan read each and every one of your comments. He quoted them to me, begging me to let him live. Thank you for playing along in our little game. I hope you guys are around for the next one.
|
Look, I know most of you are are in your early to mid twenties. I know that you read these sort of things to get a deep sense of wonder in an otherwise listless pit of existence. You want to sometimes believe these stories are true and hell maybe in some alternate universe they are but this one... I'll spare you the cliche.
I've been trapped by the Zodiac Killer or maybe it's his protege I'm not sure entirely, that's just what he calls himself. The year is 2017, Trump is our president, I'm not some angsty teen looking for some cheap kicks or a well-known writer. I've been sentenced to death and I need you, as readers, to believe me. This post has been deleted about 7 times within the last hour because one of the automoderator bots has detected an actual residential address so I'll try to be as clear as I can without putting that in just please... for the love of god before he comes in again and removes another finger.
I was cruising the U.S. and decided my next trip was Florida after an unpleasant trip to Carrowinds where two rides broke down on me in the same day, after a few hours of riding my fatboy leasurely along I decide this place will be nice.. it's got some fireworks, ourdoor movies (where have these been?), miniature golf, went fishing, and scuba diving all wrapped into one place. Now unfortunately since I was riding solo with only the neccessities of the road I of course didn't bring my scuba gear and this, dear readers is where I fucked up.
I sat and watched people dive in for hours into this beautiful aquarium and was greeted by someone who was a little hesitant to go diving so he joined me on the bench and we chatted for a bit and he turned out to be an alright guy, hell, he even offered me his swim gear minus the mouth piece since he had actually just gotten off of his flight a few hours ago and wasn't up for it yet. I took him up on the offer and dove to my hearts content for maybe 30 minutes, not a long dive but well worth the trouble of putting the suit on. After I took off the gear, there he was, Teddy, he called himself, still sitting at the same bench. We decided to get some beer and watch whatever was on the TV until the bar decided to close down. At that point I hadn't actually figured out where I was going to sleep since sometimes I just unpacked my tent and slept wherever I could find space for it but Teddy wasn't having any of that, he said we could go back to his condo which coincidentally wasn't too far away. He called an Uber for us and said we could get my bike in the morning since both of us were far too drunk, me more than he, to drive safely. Fair enough.
He showed me around for a bit, nice ocean view and all that, really one of the nicer places I had ever seen, he must be loaded I thought to myself. We end up shooting some pool and shooting the shit. After a while he asks who I voted for, not that I really care for politics that much I just said I didn't vote. He seemed furious at the notion, he started screaming like a lunatic and seemingly from nowhere his hands produced a metal baseball bat and before I could react he cracked it across my head.
And now here I sit, two fingers already missing, making this whole thing very hard to type but please, just send help Reddit. I need you on this one, don't give me that "oh that's an interesting story" or "lol yah right" or whatever the fuck else you reply to these threads with, just send help!
First time (or maybe second) writing so be gentle please hah
| 2017-06-03T17:20:28
| 2017-06-03T17:18:06
| 2,014
| 630
|
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
|
It's the best deal in town. You can be the student you always wanted to be. However long it takes. You'll get there, to have the time of your life. When I wanted him. History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. Sunny and 72 degrees. Except where prohibited by law. He grabbed her hand.
She stopped twisting the radio dial and stepped outside, into the sunshine.
|
Today's the end of The Month. It wasnt surprising but we all knew it was coming. It lasted too long but we didnt want it to seem like it had come too soon. There are 12 of them yet this one was different. It was almost like the rest seemed dull and ugly while this one was meaningful and gave us momentary happiness right up until the end, when it got bad. Having this many dogs was hard to take care of but it seemed like one dog always needed something extra and it was always.....the same dog. Before the end of The Month, we had bills to pay and the extra expenses werent helping us and it seemed like we wanted The Month to last longer but we never had the money for the bills even by the end of it. We buried The Month in the yard as it served its purpose even if it was too much for us.
| 2017-08-30T06:54:31
| 2017-08-30T04:51:45
| 5,691
| 13
|
[WP] Humans are the weakest sentient species in the galaxy. Their skin is torn at the slightest pressure, their bones break from a small fall. But as a superplague sweeps the galaxy, it quickly becomes clear that their doctors have a LOT of experience.
|
Humans are... Squishy. The Kthelbak, covered insect-like in chiton, could rip a human's arm off with little effort, while even the human's engineered hammers would have a tough time cracking that shell.
Humans are weak; a week-old Chisurian could out-lift the strongest humans.
Humans are slow. Gleft aren't the fastest creatures in the galaxy, but they can run rings around the poor humans.
Humans have so many needs - food, water, temperature, even humidity. They need air to breathe, even a light/dark cycle so they can hibernate.
Humans are messy, too. They have litters of one or two, and the procreation process... Well, let's just say it's a miracle they haven't died out ages ago.
They don't even have internal radios."
The Xixor diplomat nodded his heads. "So what, you ask, could such a weak, useless race do for us?"
There was a general murmur of agreement with the question. It was valid; humans barely survived in space, their bones deteriorating in micro gravity. What hope could they provide to so many races so much stronger than them?
The Xixor nodded again. "Humans are weak, yes. They cannot breathe in space, so they take their air with them. They cannot withstand high gravity, so they build suits to support them. They cannot survive a fight, so they practiced and practiced! They fight each other! They invent new ways to die! These humans own their weaknesses, and use them! Why would a Vishnasz need to protect itself from air? You never developed an air-tight seal. Why would a Kthelbak need armor? You never created clear plastics!"
It's voice rising, the Xixor pointed out technology after technology that each race never needed. The Dulguur hadn't even invented soap. And yet, the humans had invented glasses before they invented flight. They created clothing before they invented *tools!* The lengths humanity had to go to to simply survive was staggering!
The Xixor turned to the small, pink, nearly hairless creature standing beside it. "This is a human... Please correct me if I am saying it incorrectly... Doc-tor?"
The man nodded. In hilariously bad Standard, he introduced himself to the room at large. "Myself-person name is: Doc-tor Will-yams. Myself-person is of glad tidings, here, state of being."
The Xixor turned in a wide circle. "Friends, allies... We have lost millions, billions even, to this... Plague. Our dead are left to rot, with no one left to cover them. You ask what this pathetically weak race could do?"
It turned again to the doctor. "How many humans were affected by this plague?"
"11 billion in people-humans. Number described, mentions 75% population."
The assembly sighed and nodded. More even than the Gleft, who were among the worst affected.
"And how many deaths?"
The plague was terrifying. Over 90% of those affected were killed outright, and the survivors were left wracked with sores, inside and out, shortening their lives and eventually destroying their mental functions.
"8 million. Guessing point-zero-seven percent. But, number-ratio improves with time."
The room was silent enough the occupants could hear the human breathing. Some could hear his heartbeat. Humans *survived* the plague? *That many* survived? How!?
Raising its chins, the Xixor hummed, quieting the crowd. "Humans have faced dire straits, time and time again. They learned to fix their injuries. They treated disease, and learned to live with it, instead of eradicating it as we have. Weak, yes - but indomitable! And today... Well, humans have been known to say that they are only as strong as their weakest member. Today, that holds true for us all. Humans have accepted our cry for help, and will be sending their doc-tors to each of you, to work with you on fighting this disease."
With that, the Xixor stepped down from the platform. The last of it's species, but already building a creche and preparing to bud again. All it took was a single human to save the Xixor, to cure it's disease. Perhaps... Perhaps humans were not as weak as they seemed.
|
This... this may be the final transmission from my species.
I am Geladorg a Kermiriate and the last of us, most likely.
Un the last six solar rotations my species and manymore have been devastated by a plague, a plague so powerful that even the mighty Midoglaghs a powerful race long gone couldnt even fight back, one who met with amphibians would make their skin be de-hydrated usually leading to death, one when met with and egg laying species would first target the mother then the eggs usually making these rot away or create malfunctioning offspring. My species in particular was one of the few who have lasted so long but only due to our cultural tradition of thouroughly xleaning evrything but even then it was not enough, but even with such advanced technology the most primitive civilisation in the galaxy whas the one to prosper in the middle of the downfall.
"Why are they inmune to this catastrofic plague?" Some asked.
"They engineered it!"
Some accused.
But I, at the final moments of what would have been my long life span, have figured it out.
It was never about who could beat another in a matter of brawn or brain, nor was it a matter of who could keep their ships impeccable but it was about of was battered by nature enough to have learned to fight against it, as humans did, for their piece of crap planet who would hurl them constant catastrofes and plagues would be the only planet with creatures with natural defenses against a plague like this *cough* ... and we thought that humanity would die out by its home..
*cough* if you're a human hearing this, a thousand solar rotations or a mere second after I perish, i want to say:
Thank you for all the help you have given my species even when dawn was upon us you managed to keep us going and managed to save a lot of other species from extinction even after we made fun of your species for being "weaklings", after this i can see who is truly weak now...
This is Geladorg the last Kermiriate speaking, goodbye.
| 2019-04-02T22:46:56
| 2019-04-02T21:33:19
| 42
| 25
|
[WP] In the year 2200, an IQ test with 100% accuracy is invented. IQ becomes the universal grade of intelligence. By law, everyone has to take the test at 18. You’re a perfectly normal university student with a part time job but now you've got to explain to everyone why the test shows your IQ is 0.
|
We were walking with Ignacio down a side corridor of the commons when we broke the news.
"'Cio," we said, "I took the Zithman test."
"Shit, dude, that's right! How'd that go?"
"I got a zero."
We watched the confusion play across his face for a moment, then he laughed. We grinned at him and carefully pulled our hand-tablet out, keeping it folded in hand and out of his sight. We had the results email pulled up on screen to show him.
"I thought you were serious there, 'migo. Is that even possible? I don't think you can get a zero on the test."
"On the older IQ tests? Nah, but you could get an indeterminate score in a particular area. The Zithman IQ doesn't allow indeterminate values, so you can get a zero in many areas. It was really, incredibly goddamned tough to do."
"Yeah, it ain't easy. I took it and didn't know about when it screws with your mind. I was sitting there trying to figure out why I was suddenly so angry, and there's the test trying to figure out if I can calm myself down. I felt *loco* for sure."
"Yeah, that part was tough for me, too. I, uh, trained for it."
That look of confusion came back. He glanced at us to see if we were being sarcastic, or joking in some way. We kept our grin and his confusion became concern.
"Trained? You can't train for the IQ. It's as accurate as you get. It goes into your brain to see how smart you are."
"That it does. But are you familiar with how empathy arises in the brain?"
"I'm a mechie, dude."
"The brain can simulate another person's brain to figure out how another person feels in a given situation."
"That's... no, that makes no sense. How does one brain know how another feels? They aren't connected."
"It's just a guess the brain makes, not actually real information. But what if you trained your brain to simulate another brain really well?"
"You'd wind up with a lot of empathy? Or maybe you'd have multiple people in your head."
"Or both. We can't tell yet."
"Tell what? You still talking about the test, right?"
"Yeah. What if you studied how the test works, then trained yourself to simulate someone who's *so dumb* they could get a zero on the test?"
"I guess... you'd get a zero?"
We lit the screen on our hand tablet and gave it to him for inspection. He mouthed the words of the emailed test result as he read.
"This is a joke, right? You're not messing with me?"
We shook our head. "No joke."
"But... *why*, man? This test is how much you get paid for the rest of your life!"
"I can claim equipment failure and take it again; get the higher score used. But here's the one final question."
"Yeah? What?"
"We can simulate someone dumb. Do you think we can simulate someone smart enough to ace the test?"
"'Ace the test?' Someone told me the Zithman doesn't have a maximum."
We grinned.
"That's right... it does not."
|
*SCENE: Dr. Roberts is pacing up and down. Steve Gates, the computer technician, is sheepishly looking into his computer to avoid Dr. Roberts' occasional glares.*
**Dr. Roberts:** *stops pacing, turns to Steve* "What do you mean, integer overflow?"
**Steve Gates:** "Well, a 'byte' of space can only store numbers from 0 to 255. If someone tries to store 256, it get stored as 0, and --"
**Dr. Roberts:** *angrily* "I know what an overflow is. WHY?"
**Steve Gates:** "Well, er, ahem, we really didn't expect an IQ to be greater than 200 when we built this thing."
**Dr. Roberts:** "So, you're saying that when Rupert Einstein went on to win the Nobel Prize in Physics, despite having an IQ of 60, he could have..."
**Steve Gates:** "He had an IQ of 316, yes. I re-ran his test as a confirmation of the hypothesis."
**Dr. Roberts:** "And to think we used him as an example of the Down Syndrome cure working! Do you realize how much trouble we're in?"
*Dr. Roberts starts pacing again, mumbling something about damage control. Steve turns to him to say something, visibly hesitates, then goes ahead anyway.*
**Steve Gates:** "I've changed the space to two bytes. We can go up to 65535 now. Should I re-run his IQ test?"
**Dr. Roberts:** "Can't we go larger? Anyway, it doesn't matter now. Just run it and we'll see what happens"
*Steve turns to his computer. Frantic typing, followed by the computer making processing sounds and printing a page. Steve snatches the page and stares at it.*
**Dr. Roberts:** "Well?" *waits for a response and hearing none, looks towards Steve* "What does it say?"
*Steve is still staring at the paper. Dr. Roberts snatches the sheet out of Steve's hand, and glances at it*
**Dr. Roberts:** "ZERO? What does this mean? How is it still zero?"
**Steve:** "Should I increase the variable size again? Is it possible he's actually super-dumb?"
*Enter /u/shashwat986. He's only heard the end of this conversation.*
**/u/shashwat986:** "Who's super-dumb? Have my IQ test results come yet?"
**Dr. Roberts:** "Hello, Mr. /u/shashwat986, how did you get inside? I gave explicit orders to my secretary not to let anybody into the lab."
**/u/shashwat986:** "Ah, yes, Janice. Lovely girl. She was telling me about her aunt living in Vermont, and we hit it off so well. She didn't have any problem with me walking in to meet my old friend, Brian Roberts."
**Dr. Roberts:** "What do you think now, Steve?"
**Steve:** *sighs* "I'll re-run the test."
*Steve looks back into his computer, while Dr. Roberts ushers /u/shashwat986 out of the room*
*(END OF SCENE)*
---
EDIT: Overflow, not rounding error
EDIT: Steve **Gates** not Jobs.
EDIT: Replacing "Autism" with "Down Syndrome" to be more medically accurate. Thanks and apologies /u/ryry1237 and /u/klatnyelox
EDIT: "built", not "build"
**EDIT: Thanks for the comments and improvements, redditors. It means a lot.**
Will continue in comments later. Want to save the current state
| 2016-08-18T23:46:19
| 2016-08-18T22:59:39
| 910
| 202
|
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
|
"Is this some kind of joke?" You ask, barely making any effort to conceal your frustration. You know better than to go off on the first guy you stumble across in the afterlife, but this is growing remarkably tedious.
The man behind the desk doesn't even meet your gaze and seems quite irritated by the disturbance. "I don't know what to tell you, friend. I don't read each book that comes across my desk. You have any idea how many people die a day? I just hand them out."
You plop back down and let out a sigh. Up until this point, the book you hold in your hands has only gone in chronological order. Many pages only end with one choice. Even the ones with multiple paths have zero impact on the "story".
*to pursue a career as an electrician, turn to page 3,283.*
*to pursue a college education, turn to page 3,283.*
You find that if you had gone to college, you merely would have dropped out in less than a semester and become an electrician anyway. Your "choice" amounts to nothing more than an additional paragraph at the top of the page.
You had no real say in any of it. Were all your decisions really so inconsequential?
You don't entertain the thought for long. You know what is to come. You know the moment everything fell apart.
This time you'll turn right.
The day comes. You skim through most of it, you remember the day well. You don't forget a goddamn thing on a day like that. You begin your drive home. You are lost. You're in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It is raining quite hard which obscures your vision. Your GPS on your phone is not responding. You don't remember the way back.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
Your heart drops in your chest. This couldn't be right. Only one choice. Only one fucking choice.
You slam the book shut. You refuse to relive that. You choose indecision. It seems to be the only other you have, and you'll be damned if this book is going to take that from you.
Hours pass. Days. Weeks perhaps? All the while, the man sits as his desk, reading quietly to himself. He glances up occasionally only to return to his book.
You know the rules. You must finish the book before you can leave this room. Your hands trembling, you resume where you left off.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
It all happened so fast that it barely registered. All the text captures are the fuzzy details you retained. The briefest glimpse of a bicycle in your headlights. The sudden impact. The sound of a person's head very rapidly meeting pavement. A sound no amount of whiskey will ever drown out or water down. The blood. So much of it. What seems to be an impossible amount of blood.
The woman screaming. The pleas for help.
The therapy. The guilt. The anger. Bewilderment. The copious amounts of alcohol and the many fights that come along with it.
*to tell your wife you understand her decision, turn to page 872,862.*
*to beg her to stay, turn to page 872,862.*
For the next 500 pages or so, your choices are very limited. More often than not there is only one option. This is starting to seem like a sick joke. Eventually, there is one alternative that shows up every now and then that grabs your attention.
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
Forgive yourself? You will do no such thing.
*to buy another bottle, just turn the page.*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*to browse through that young boy's memorial page on Facebook again, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*To try slicing down the wrist this time, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
You just continue turning the page.
*to pull the trigger, close this book now.*
You crumble to the floor and begin to sob uncontrollably. This is the only option you have left. The man sees his cue and walks over to scoop up the book.
"What....what was the point of all that? To torture me? Have I not done that to myself enough?" You didn't realize you were steadily raising your shaking voice as you spoke, but the man remained unfazed.
He turns back, your book tucked under his arm. "You've done that more than enough, my son." He speaks gently for the first time since you began the book.
You slowly stand on legs that barely prove to hold you, desperately hoping he will continue talking.
"You had no choices because you *made* no choice. You were only ever prepared for moments that had already passed. What you could have done differently. You couldn't choose your adventure because you were so fixated on changing it."
You look at the floor, unsure how to respond.
"The path you took is the path that was. Alternate endings are merely an author's fantasy."
You look him in the eyes and nod apprehensively.
"Are you ready to try to forgive yourself?"
"....I can try."
He hands the book back to you.
"You know what to do."
|
I sat at the desk dumb-founded.
“You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?”
The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there.
I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands.
Every decision.
There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died.
I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else.
It was just me.
I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true.
When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean.
I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind.
On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get.
We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California.
It was a mistake.
We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work.
The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him.
He found it.
My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine.
“Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.”
“Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face.
I have never felt more guilt.
Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted.
“I’m leaving.” I had blurted.
Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?”
“I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.”
At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out.
Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing.
I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350).
I turned to page 150.
Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
| 2018-07-04T01:11:05
| 2018-07-03T22:39:59
| 640
| 92
|
[WP] You are a demon trapped in an ancient temple build by a long dead civilization. Today, after millennia, an archaeologist finds you. Now you need to convince him to free you from the magic circle.
|
Glowing blue flames lick the bone-white stone pillars before me, dancing to the silent, eternal song that has kept them alive for endless centuries. The temple I live in is hidden from the world, deep in a humid jungle that keeps all but the bravest away from the secret treasures of fe'lis that were once cradled in the skeletal palms of her long dead priests. Amulets, potions, journals of dark magic. All scavenged over the years by warriors or wanderers who found themselves going mad as they stole my favorite toys. What became of them once they left my stone and vine paradise was a mystery to me, but I liked to think that some large, feline predator chased them down and dined on the flesh of such scoundrels. It would only be fair.
They never knew anything of the temple, just stared at me with wide eyes, asking me why I could speak. Such insolence, these pests. I think often of my beloved, a young magician with long, black hair that hung like two ropes plaited down her back, swinging as she danced. The gold on her wrist would shine blue as I chased her across the temple as she laughed, grabbing at her long skirts. She had loved to converse with me, though my voice was strange and abyssal. Had held me lovingly, worshipping me as I truly deserved. She was nothing like those awful, disgusting humans that smelled of brittle bone and weak blood.
Yet, like my treasures, she too had been gone for a millennia. And so I have been alone, my only entertainment being the vermin of the lost temple, the rats, the flies, the adventurers. A spiteful creature locked me within an ancient spell circle so long ago now, barely escaping my punishment. How I wish I were freed, to reclaim my lost artifacts, to establish a new cult. To do more than heckle trespassers.
And purrhaps, today, I just may get my wish. This...human-rat, is not like the others. He is perfumed with the scent of knowledge, of curiosity. He reeks of electricity and steel. And he knows nothing of demons. I have watched as he scribbles in his little book, about the intricate architecture of my home. He seems to not even notice that I am observing his thoughts. That I have learned his language after mere seconds of tasting his soul.
No, he knows nothing of supersition. And now he finds me here, clawing at the ground, at the eroded runes. I have, shamefully, finally swallowed my pride. I know what must be done. As my gold, inhuman eyes meet his pale gaze, I open my mouth, showing the barest hint of fang, and call out to him. I already see the smile on his face as he notices me, the excitement, the hands reaching to free me from my prison before the sound even escapes my throat.
"Mreeow?" I say, flicking my tail. "meeeoww." The time for retribution has come.
|
When Harry entered the ruins of the ancient temple of Altuz, his flashlight immediately fell upon a poor, old, balding man who stood in the centre of a circle among the ruins. The man's skin was dark brown and crusty, the eyes fiery, and the hair silver.
"Who are you?" Harry asked.
The old man looked up to him. He extended a dark, crusty hand towards the light and said, "I? I am a lonely old fellow, trapped in these ruins."
"Do you have a name?"
"Yes, I do. People call me Luc- Lucilius," the old man said and smiled.
"How did you get here? How long have you been? Why is your skin so?"
"So many questions, young man. I will answer them; once you let me out of here."
"You need my help? You seem pretty fine by the looks of it."
Harry had noticed that the old man was indeed in no great trouble, from the looks of it. He was not bound to anything and had no physical injuries that appeared serious enough to stop him from crawling out of there. But then, the old man started to move and Harry noticed a limp in his step.
"I am not very fine, brave young man, I am not. It's cold in here, and this leg, it hurts in the cold."
That said, the old man collapsed to the ground near the edge of the circle.
"Are you alright, old man ... Lucilius, was it?"
The old man lifted his head from the crumpled heap of his body, "Yes, I am Lucilius. You see, young man. I have to get out. I have to."
Harry gave him a quick nod and bent down to pick him up. While doing so, he noticed the ancient rune marks around the circle at whose edge Lucilius lay, crumpled in a heap.
"Say, old man, what are these runes you got around here?"
"Oh, these? I never really understood them. Not my cup of tea, these things."
"Why were you standing in this circle then, if you had no interest in it?"
Lucilius sighed. "It gets cold. The walls especially so. Snow comes in during the wintertime. So, I have to sit in this circle to get whatever heat I can."
Harry directed his flashlight to the walls, which were far away, but did seem cold and uninviting.
"Okay, brace yourself. I'm gonna pick you up now," Harry said and lifted old Lucilius on his shoulders.
When he stepped out of the circle, his flashlight flickered, and the old man called Lucilius disappeared from his shoulders. In his place was a gargoyle, wrinkled and old and ugly. It stared at Harry's face, clicked its tongue and feasted on the archaeologist's head.
The men stationed outside, who were waiting for Harry, grew restless. One of them, a sprightly young research assistant, took a flashlight and peered into the temple's entrance. The gargoyle flew past him at great speed and disappeared into the sky.
| 2020-12-06T11:01:43
| 2020-12-06T10:50:16
| 170
| 48
|
[WP] Everytime you think of a funny joke, this girl in your class always laughs, you chalk it up to coincidence but you think to yourself, "If you can read my mind, slap the table three times" the the girl looks over at you, stares right into your eyes, and slowly slaps the table three times.
Edit - Wow we made the front page, thank you for everyone that replied with their stories, I have had a lot of fun reading them all!!!
Edit 2- thank you kind stranger for my first gold!!!
Edit 3- 2 Gold's!!! Holy Shit, I honestly thought this post wasn't going to go anywhere but now it is my most upvoted post ever by far, and 2 Gold's Jesus Christ. Thank you again everyone that commented, upvoted and gifted the gold you are all special to me! 👌👌👌👌
|
'If you can read my mind, slap the table three times.' I think and the girl looks over at me, then slowly, and very deliberately slaps the table. Once. Twice. Three times. Her eyes locked onto mine
'Tap once for yes, twice for no or three times for maybe' I think, immediately tuning out my professor and his inane rambling about something not quite related to astrophysics.
'Can you turn your ability on and off?'
One tap.
'Are you able to select who you listen to?'
One tap.
'Can you read deeper than surface thoughts?'
Three taps.
'Can you meet me after class? Preferably somewhere quiet like the library'
One tap, then a pause before two more
'That a maybe?'
One tap.
'I'm afraid I'm not offering a choice.'
I have her cornered in an alcove in the library. She's trying to act calm, but her glare and clenched fists say otherwise. "It's okay. I mean you no harm." I say but she doesn't look convinced. "If I wanted you hurt you would be."
"Gee thanks." She snaps, almost before she could help herself judging by the visible wave of fear that washes over her afterwards.
"I asked you here to talk to you. Calmly and in a civilised fashion. Because what you're going through only gets crazy from here on out."
"What do you mean?' She asks, still glaring daggers at me
"Powers like yours are immensely rare. There's a number of people who'd kill the entire university just to get a hold of you."
"You one of them?" She spits at me, and now I can feel her actively attacking my mind. Agony lances through me as she randomly slashes and stabs about inside my cranium.
"I said... I wasn't going to hurt you." I force out as I begin to collapse. I feel something give within me and darkness fades across my vision.
Next thing I know I've come too on the floor and she's encased in a swirling miasma of darkness; like the light simply couldn't shine there. "What the fuck is this?" She asks.
"My gift." I say as I stagger to my feet. "I control shadows."
"Shadows are absences of light. You can't control that."
"You read minds and question another impossibility?" I laugh, waving a hand to dismiss the mist that restrained her. "I didn't hurt you though did I?"
"No. Now tell me more."
|
He held his breath, half-choking on the air held within him. Her eyes were locked on his, her dark hair spilling around her face, her body twisted to face him from her seat at the front of the class. Nobody was paying attention to their exchange, other students sliding materials into their bags and making their way out of class. In moments, they were the last two in the room.
With the ease of a predator who'd already won, she stood from her chair and began to walk towards him. He instinctively started to shift away, as if any bit farther was better than the current proximity. His instincts screamed warnings, but he couldn't look away from her eyes. They seemed to eat at him, eat at something within him. Suddenly, she was standing right at the edge of the desk, and he wondered at how he could have missed that.
"You seem to have a problem paying attention," she started. The smirk on her lips spoke of amusement. "You've been having quite the daydreams, haven't you?"
Her eyes, twin voids on her pale face, dug right into him. The abyss was staring right back, and he was utterly caught in its embrace. He opened his mouth to stammer out some sort of reply, but she pinned his lips shut with a single slender finger.
'Cold,' he thought. She chuckled, something dark and throaty.
"Not quite as cold as you. But the plans you have to kill everyone in class? Now those are cold."
She knew. An icy chill seemed to sweep through him from the pale digit upon his lips. His eyes were wide and his hands (still and always free, yet seemingly confined to his desk) twitched in inaction. He was prey pinned by the predator and with nowhere to run. Adrenaline racing through his form, it slipped his mind that this girl could never prove his monstrous musings, and he scrambled to find a way out of her clutches.
She could definitely hear his thoughts. Her eyes - those eyes! - narrowed; she 'tsked' and sat in his lap. Every muscle that had been spasming in terror became stone. She wore a disappointed frown and turned one finger into five, caressing his jaw. He couldn't move - he was trapped, mentally and now physically.
He also noticed that her legs were quite shapely. In horror and disbelief, he felt a stirring between his legs. Almost immediately, she noticed. That smirk from before returned and she shifted ever so slightly, mocking him. He grimaced, but kept his mouth shut, even as her thumb smoothed the edge of his mouth.
"You're terribly amusing, you know. It's been years since I've come across such an interesting specimen." She let her hand trace the line from his ear to his chin, and her eyes roved the map of his head and face, inspecting and exploring it's every contour. "But if you'll just listen to what I have to say, I think you'll enjoy yourself a little, too."
Abruptly, she stood up. The glacier-like freeze that had settled into his muscles was suddenly whisked away, and he gasped as his lungs leapt for the air it had been denied. She chuckled again, low and enticing. He still trembled, but now, he felt something else, too...
The girl with the dark eyes offered him a hand. His eyes traveled from her palm to the abyss and back. Slowly, he brought his hand up and took hers. She guided him out of his seat - he caught himself at the edge of his desk as his shaking legs buckled from their extended tension. She grinned, sharp teeth like stone in a cave.
"Well, I think I have a fun idea for the weekend. Let's gather a few of your friends, and we'l visit some place nice in the wilds. And we'll have such a treat in store for them, won't we?"
He nodded - it was all he could do, really. She looked a little lower at the lapel of his uniform. She thumbed his name-badge.
"You've such a nice name, too. 'Thanos'." She smiled at him. He drank it in, enraptured. "We're going to have a lot of fun together, yes?"
Thanos responded instinctively, "Yes... mistress."
| 2018-10-27T14:50:58
| 2018-10-27T14:04:56
| 28
| 19
|
[WP]Write a story that isn't scary until the last line is read.
|
The flowing highways allowed him to travel effortlessly to his destination. He didn't particularly care much about where exactly to get off, but he found a nice-enough looking spot just like any other of the choices destiny could have taken him to. With only what was on his back now, the pudgy thing let himself into the welcoming abode, and he went to find whoever was in charge. He had a strict agenda, and it was to be completed in only a matter of minutes. Although his entrance was unexpected, the little laborers of this place began to fulfill his work order, churning out the final product faster than he ever could have done alone. Rather unaware of any strategy or direction, he went outside again and proceeded down the highway to continue fulfilling his purpose.
By the time his order was complete, the hijacked cell had died, and the deadly self-replicating virus continued to spread about the child's ever-weakening body.
|
It's so cold here in this tundra. The summers are great for farming, but the winters are terrible. My baby, to my right, and I have no food. We ran out of crops since the beginning of winter, and ran out of meat yesterday. I would go hunting for bears and wolves right now, but I don't have a rifle. Without one, taking on a bear or wolf would be dangerous. I need food. I look down to the right. It'll have to do.
| 2017-06-05T20:52:45
| 2017-06-05T20:15:06
| 78
| 17
|
[WP] Humanity is at war with an alien race that cleverly uses statistical analysis to predict and anticipate our military actions with incredible accuracy. The only way to defeat them is to be unpredictable.
|
It took us too long to realise.
We first encountered them just under 5 years ago, when we turned up unannounced by warp drive in a star system that was at the edges of their expansion. And we did the most human thing possible. We panicked. As we approached them one our exploration ships let out a warning shot and the situation deteriorated from there.
At first we managed to hold our ground, when we fought we gave as good as we got. Most of our maneuvers was calculated by our on board computer systems as when ships are travelling at relativistic speeds it's too fast for a human to react within the window of opportunity to engage.
Then within a few months they were winning every time. Wherever we decided to engage them they outnumbered us, when we encountered them on a planet surface, any flanking maneuver or surprise attack was countered before it started. At this point we thought we had a leak, someone had passed on our combat systems or was somehow passing our movements to them. So we changed it, reprogrammed the entire system to be more defensive.
It worked for a while, but the aliens learnt quickly. Within mere weeks we were encountering the same issues, we were losing to many people too quickly, and we started to give ground. Unfortunately for us, we weren't as quick at understanding the patterns and it was only a stroke of luck that revealed their secret.
A Fleet Commander Lei disobeyed a direct order. She arrived at a mining colony to aid in the evacuation as the aliens tore the defenses apart, the small fleet stationed there was not enough to hold them. Lei's orders were to ensure the recovery of the planets elected officials and records, but she couldn't leave the defense fleet unaided. The results were unexpected. It was a decisive victory resulting in total destruction of the alien armada with less than 20% loss for us, despite the number being even. The only difference in this battle. The disobedience.
At last we had their secret, the way they were always one step ahead of us. We were predictable, in every possible way. So this lead to the issue how do we remain unpredictable?
Well that's why I'm here now on the bridge of the flagship of the largest fleet assembled in human history.
"Are you ready?" asks fleet commander Lei.
I slowly nod, feeling the pressure of humanity's fate that rests on my shoulder crushing me.
"Then roll for initiative."
I pick up the two dice, and gently shake them in my hand. One action to decide the fate of trillions. I let the dice tumble out of my hands and onto the desk in front of me, my heart skips a beat as I see the result staring back at me.
**20** **20**
Double twenty. Operation All or Nothing.
Attack the alien homeworld.
|
'The aliens were ready to launch their assault on the UN. Within only a few hours, they could destroy New York as we know it. But I have come up with an ingenious plan that could cause more damage to themselves than us. But... you will die doing it, Mr Chairman.'
The man sitting in the chair nervously lifted up his glass of scotch and gazed into it. 'W... what do you intend for me to do?'
'We'll evacuate as many people away from your position with you standing on the rooftop, making an announcement to the warring aliens. See... there are others out there, who will not interfere with the war between two parties unless we bring them in and even then, we may be punished for it. But they have laws and standards which we seek to exploit.'
'And... what is that?'
The general took a deep sigh as he sat down. 'They'll launch a nuke to attack the building, their perceived endgame. You'll make your announcement when it would be too late for them to stop the attack. This will infuriate the other species and they'll finally come to our aid.'
'For God's sake, man! What is this plan?!'
'Mr Chairman, you're going to sue for peace.'
| 2015-04-15T05:25:08
| 2015-04-15T05:12:03
| 324
| 25
|
[WP]: Intergalactic olympics are gathering. All creeds and cultures of the galaxy are arriving and greeting each other. Suddenly a fleet of spaceships appears, blasting We Will Rock You. Everyone freezes. The humans are here.
|
"Goooooooood evening Kromblas, Wanhti's, and all you cresty, cresty Spleeno's, welcome to the sevens hundred and thirty thousandth annual Intergalactic Olympics!" Brazz Mangoodlian gave the appropriate pause as the massive stadium full of beings from all over the galaxy erupted with applause. Flying cameras whizzed around the stadium picking up all the comings and going of the opening ceremonies.
“That’s right, Brazz,” replied his co-commentator for the events, Walladuang Fo, “who isn’t excited for the tired monotony of the broom toss, or the brick drop? I know I am.” The two sat in a small commentators box, high above a massive track and field style stadium. There was no air conditioning.
“Right you are, Walladuang. Those are sure to be as lifeless and tedious as ever, filling the viewers not only with a sense of boredom, but also despair.”
“And how.”
“But, I do believe we’re getting ahead of ourselves…”
“Surely indeed you are correct, Brazz. We’ve got to introduce the planets and athletes to who will be competing in these brazenly boring competitions of athletic prowess. “
The doors to the stadium swung open, and all sorts of weird looking creatures and features began walking, er, mostly shambling actually, across the stadium floor, bearing the flags of their respective planets.
“That’s right on the money Walladuang, we’ve got things from all over. Why look, there are the scissor people of Bloople 2, looking sharp as ever.”
“Correct again, Brazz. And here’s the needle headed people of the desert planet Fruup. They definitely look like they have a point to make.”
“The breadfolk of Wantani look hungry for a victory.”
“And the Grizzly people from Jungle Planet B don’t look like they can bear another defeat.”
“So let’s get…”
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
Brazz’s words were cut short by a terrifying rumble that shook the stadium. There was a hushed silence as athletes, fans, and commentators alike gave each other puzzled or terrified looks.
“Well,” said Brazz after a moment, “let’s get on with the opening ceremonies shall we?”
“Sounds good, Brazz, why don’t you…”
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
Brazz and Walladuang shared another look.
“Er, Kromblas, Wanhti's, and Spleeno's something appears to be going wrong, just bear with us a moment while we…”
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
“Ok, what the fuck is going on?” yelled Walladuang.
“Professionalism, Walladuang.”
“Right, sorry Brazz.”
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
“Fuck this,” yelled Walladuang, “I’m outta here.”
Just as he was about to rush out the door, and just as Brazz was about restrain him, a gargantuan spacecraft, roughly a quarter size of the stadium, burst out of the clouds above and the source of the rumbling was revealed as towering speakers the size of elephants blasted music so loud that several older fans hearts simply exploded.
“Buddy you're a boy make a big noise playin' in the street gonna be a big man some day.”
The ship swirled around the inside of the stadium bowl, buzzing the crowd and blasting the tunes.
“You got mud on your face, you big disgrace, kickin' your can all over the place.”
It swooped around once more before settling above the main podium in the centre and with effortless quickness, a ramp crashed down from the ship, crushing the podium and several of the delegates from the intergalactic Olympic committee.
“Singin’ We Will We Will Rock You! We Will We Will Rock You!”
As the song reached it’s chorus, a group of pink squishy humanoids, baring little rebalance to any of the other gathered species in the stadium rushed out of the craft yelling, flexing and generally woohooing.
“Fuck,” said Brazz.
“Is that the humans?” asked Walladuang. “How the hell did they find us again?”
“Must have seen the postings online.”
“Bloody social media.”
“Should we say something to them?”
“Nah, call the snipers.”
|
To Glibs we glued their ship doors shut,
and then in track passed their slow strut,
We won and drank pabst behind their moon
and threw our cans till half passed noon.
Then galactic patrol had told us to stop
so we flew so fast their splooters dropped.
To Jorni Trali's respectful race,
we'd never spit into her face.
Instead we sent our donkey Jim,
to show her good times filled with vim.
The Trali fishes we can't outpace
they threw that shit right at our face -
they pulled poor Jim into their ship
and sent him spinning atop their blimp.
We mourned old Jim but not for long,
It was time for archery to stomp the Clongs.
We sent old Ellison's children's brood
with a recurve bow with a curve like the moon.
Old Ellison's children's grandson's kid
aimed 40 pecs passed the coil and missed
but shooting Vibrilum up at the stars
feels way too different from Earth on Mars.
Thank god we froze Tony Yoka's fists,
cuz Venus has this sport called Tris,
old Tony's hands slapped that volcano good,
beat waggly armed Tris Dzeri Wohd.
It sucks tho man on the way back home,
them Glibs got pissed left one last troll -
it went to our ships panel while we slept
and made us list so far to the left.
Now we've got 5 more years till home,
and our beers are fuckin almost gone,
but that's alright the troll seems cool,
we gave him Donkey's stable room.
| 2018-04-28T09:40:41
| 2018-04-28T08:40:01
| 32
| 24
|
[WP] You and God switch places for a day. But I don't want to hear about what you would do; I want to hear about a powerless God's day in your shoes.
|
The coffee shop was dimly lit and mostly barren. The pitter-patter of shuffling feet and fingers typing on keyboards intertwined themselves into a cacophony of noise. The afternoon sun, an hour or two from setting, fought its way through the mesh blinds to his right. He could smell the couple sitting behind him; musk pervaded off of their worn flannels and mangy hair. *This place must be,* God thought, *what my children often refer to as "pretentious".*
God had spent much of the last hour in a daze. The day had started off rough, and every experience he had thereafter had only worsened his sanity. He had hit his breaking point at about 1:00 PM whereupon he wandered the streets aimlessly for a few hours, before settling down in this hole-in-the-wall coffee shop where he now resided. In front of him was something that his children called a "latte". It tasted burnt, and the man who made it had hands that likely hadn't been washed in days, if not weeks.
God sat staring at the whipped cream melt into his warm drink, when a familiar face sat down in the booth opposite him.
"Michael."
"God."
"I told you to stay with the other angels. In case my replacement...has some unfortunate ideas."
"I know, God, and I am sorry. But we've been watching you, and the others decided I should come down and make sure you're doing alright."
God did not respond.
"...Do you want to talk about it?"
God took a deep breath.
"Today has been an eye-opening experience for me, Michael. I have come to learn many truths about the hardships I have created for my children. "
"...In what way, my Lord?"
"Well, first of all, **fuck** alarm clocks."
Michael stared at God in horror.
"Michael," chuckled God, "If only that was the first time today I have broken my own rules. Being a human is harder than it looks."
God's smirk suddenly changed into something much more serious.
"Hard? How is it hard? We provide a simple set of commandments to follow, and if they can manage that they enjoy eternal paradise."
God stared at Michael with dismay.
"Michael, I walked outside today and I felt something. Do you know what that was?"
"Immense respect for your beloved creations?"
"No. I felt cold, Michael. It's fucking January, and it was fucking freezing outside, and I walked around in a t-shirt. Have you ever felt cold, Michael?"
Michael shook his head solemnly.
"I have, and it was miserable, and there are millions of my children who feel that same misery every day of their lives."
"I see, my Lord."
"No, you don't see. After I figured out how to properly clothe myself, I went for a walk. On this walk I saw a woman. She was stunning, Michael, she was beautiful beyond words."
Michael smiled, "And you made her in your image, what's wrong with that? You should be proud of-"
"I wanted to fuck her, Michael. Have you ever felt a sexual urge before? Have you ever tasted of lust?"
Michael sank back into his chair. He was afraid now.
"Before I even knew what was running through my mind, I thought of all the terrible, morally reprehensible things I would enjoy doing to her body. And then, after I had realized what I was thinking about, I **could not stop**. It persisted, Michael. It persisted."
They each now stared at the other in stunned silence. Both realizing the weight of what God was confessing. Michael finally broke the silence.
"What is your point, my Lord? In a few hours all will be as before, and we can forget this ever happened."
"The point, Michael," God said slowly, "Is that being human is harder than you or I could have ever imagined. Every day my children are faced with countless obstacles and temptations, and for the most part, they overcome them with dignity and grace. **That** is the definition of true strength. Not creating a world in six days. Not raining down blood upon a race of people. Not speaking from a burning bush. Surviving - **that** is something to be admired."
Once more silence filled the air between them.
"...Anyway, how's my replacement doing, Michael? Is he wreaking irrecoverable damage on my universe? Is he flinging black holes around the galaxy? Staring at the naked bodies of the women he himself has lusted after?"
Michael gulped.
"...No, God. He cured cancer in millions of children. He gave food to those who were hungry. He gave water to those who thirsted."
"I see."
"And he got rid of the mosquito."
God chuckled under his breath. He knew now what choice he must make.
"Michael, I want you to return and tell the other angels that, for the foreseeable future, I am not returning to Heaven. I am going to stay here and live out my time as a human being. After that, we will see what happens."
"But, God," responded Michael quickly, nervously, "What do you mean? You cannot leave us! What will we do? What will happen to your kingdom? What about us? What will-"
"Enough, Michael." God let in a long breath through his nose and exhaled slowly. "I have long forgotten my children. It is time I suffer and yearn and ache along with them. Besides, I think you'll find that my replacement will do fine....
He was, after all, created in my image."
|
The alarm clock blared. 5:00am comes quickly and abruptly. I was watching my body fumble in the dark for the cell phone causing this early morning chaos.
He has no idea what he’s in for. I chuckled to myself.
He finally got the phone and turned it off. And laid there. I wondered if he’d ever experienced what he was experiencing right now. The universal yearning for 10 more minutes of sleep. The beckoning of the warm blankets to stay just a little longer. I doubt he had.
However, it was against the rules of our deal. He had to participate in one full day in my shoes. No skipping out on any of it. I nudged him. “Get up, you only have 15 minutes to get ready for work,” I spoke to him.
He let out an audible groan and drug himself up out of bed. I knew he was experiencing even more sensations. My stiff back was surely flaring up and I know my feet and ankles are always rough to get moving in the mornings. I could tell by the way he hobbled gingerly into the bathroom that he was definitely feeling it.
He attempted to use the bathroom. Only finding minor relief of the bladder. That darn prostate. After several minutes of standing there and struggling he managed to gain a satisfactory relief as he left the bathroom to get dressed.
“Hurry up, you only have 5 minutes before you need to leave,” I told him, speaking telepathically.
He got finished dressing, grabbed the car keys off the counter and the lunch I packed for him the night before. He forgot to lock the door. A big no-no, but I’ll let it slide.
I was curious as to how good of a driver he was, considering the last time he was on Earth would’ve been millennia before the invention of the combustible engine. However, he caught on quickly, and seemed to understand how to drive right away.
He’s really gonna love this part. I thought to myself as he was preparing to merge on the free way. Grid lock. Just like every morning. I could see he was visibly irritated by this and I could see him grip the steering wheel out of anger. The crawl to work took him an hour and a half, thanks to some morons that decided to turn I-70 into a parking lot.
As he approached the exit to get off the freeway he saw flashing lights in his rear view mirror.
“You have to pull over” I told him.
He ended up getting a ticket for failure to use a signal. Great I thought to myself, just something else I’m going to have to deal with.
He waltzed into work 15 minutes late due to the traffic stop. Not the end of the world, but not certainly something to go unnoticed. As he walked through the office he was met with the typical snide remarks from various co-workers about his inability to show up on time.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you worked a swing shift.” someone said.
“Glad you decided to show up today.” Someone else said.
After the verbal barrage was over and just as he sat down to his office his phone rang.
“Yes?” He asked.
“Williams get in my office, I have something.” It was my boss, surely he was ready to drop some kind of insane project with an even more ridiculous due date.
Sure enough, I watched him sit in the boss’ office for the better part of a half hour as the boss asked him several times if he felt okay. He was clearly not following along very well with what his boss expected. Another mess I will have to clean up.
He left the office with a whole stack of Manila folders and notebooks and trudged back over to his desk.
I watched as he dozed off several times, I know the feeling. The rest of the day past pretty uneventfully. He sat in traffic for an hour and a half until getting to the gym. He was visibly exhausted at this point. Grinding his way through his workout. He questioned why I did this. “Well because if I don’t I get unhealthy and gain weight” I replied.
He finally arrived at home at 6:45pm and his stomach was growling. He looked through the kitchen for something easy to make. He found some ramen noodles.
“You can’t eat that, I usually make a salad and grill some steak” I told him. Another audible groan. He finally sat down to eat dinner at 7:15. After scarfing that down he showered. He got done showering at 7:45. And determined he had enough.
He spoke out loud to me now. Anguish plastered all over his face.
“I can see why nobody thanks me for much anymore. This life, this way of existence is not what I intended this to be. I’m sorry.”
“Lucky for you, you aren’t the one that has to get up and do it all again tomorrow.” I replied.
| 2020-01-14T10:27:52
| 2020-01-14T09:25:53
| 49
| 14
|
[WP] The King is dying and decides to abdicate his throne before he dies. During the coronation ceremony, he places the crown on a servant's head and declares him king, rather than one of his two sons.
|
His Majesty's chapel erupted. Fred-Lesser was unsure what to make of the boom that shook his ears. All his years raised in the Kingdom's service and he never heard anything quite like it. To poverty, it even made his head feel heavy. And cozy. Sort of... regal feeling. He had to scratch his head, the velvet was starting to get---
*I did not attend this coronation with a hat.*
The thought froze him solid. Then he repeated it. *I did not attend this coronation with a hat.* It must be true, because Fred-Lesser had the distinct memory of having donned his servant's tunic. Then his grey pantaloons and equally grey foot slips (so as not to embarrass the traveling nobility with the sound of his poverty-stricken feet). He slicked his greasy hair all the way back, and exited the servant's quarter, helping to prepare for the coronation where directed by Bookmaster Ghuile, master of the books, ceremonies and omelette Thursdays. Omelette Thursdays were the worst days.
Cries of anger and protest in his direction was starting to give him a headache. What could have happened? Did he, *stumble* and hit his head, forgetting where he was? It would explain why his head felt so heavy. And cozy. Sort of... No, equally impossible, Fred-Lesser stood ramrod straight by the princes since the beginning of their coronation ceremony. The very same princes he attended to since Fred-Lesser was old enough to do so. The same princes, who's eyes traced lines where a sword might pass through him. And at him. And----
*No, the good princes wouldn't do that to me, where is that thought even coming from.*
His faith in the young Highness' was quickly shattered by the elder of the Bormenfast sons. "*How DARE you Father!* Surely you would not have mistaken this *commoner* for one of your sons??" The words confused Fred-Lesser, but whatever his troubles, he seemed to be the cause of them.
Must have been a fairly magnificent stumble to draw the ire of this chapel and hit his head with no memory of doing so.
The younger piped up in his younger, gentler timbre. "As brother has said good father, this must be some... unfortunate mistake."
"No." In his last dying years, His Majesty has never sounded so resolute. A word that forced a fulcrum of the wisest, purest, most powerful nobles in the entire Kingdom, to *silence.* Fred-Lesser would have been moved, if his life had not felt so threatened by all present. His head was also starting to get fairly heavy, but he dared not move to check himself before he necked himself for disturbing His Majesty mid-speech.
"This ceremony, as was the founding of this Kingdom, are directed so by my *will.*" His breathing searched deeper for air with every sentence. "I would have the rule of that which I built, maintained by one who *can* maintain my legacy. As he, who knows this castle, it's nobles, it's allies... Yes, he has eavesdropped on more than he should---" *Wait, what?* "---but that only tells *you* my subjects of the resourcefulness demanded of a King. Not the boorish---" he gestured to the elder son, "---or the timid---" then gestured his younger."
Both his hands pointed palms-up to the servant struggling to hold his head up during the ceremony. "---But the *true* servant of Bormenfast."
Fred-Lesser's eyes opened wide when he realized he was that servant. His mouth gaped like the statue of The Drinker at the Court Fountain pavilion. Shoulders, no longer supported by the rigid indoctrination of servant's ways, for the distraction commanded more than his training in that instance, sank low. He couldn't believe it. After all his precautions, *all* his mind and manners, and servitude to the family...
... And His Majesty *knew* he was eavesdropping???
For the moment, Fred-Lesser was just happy to be alive. For now, anyway.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
|
The bright interior of the official throne room was illuminated by the powerful sun shining through the stain glass windows lining the long hall, creating a mighty atmosphere for the change of kings.
Royalty displayed themselves like a wedding party: the two princes on the left and the three princesses on the right. Nobles lined and sprinkled the ornate hall. The fragrant air wafted with scents of roses, sunflowers and a varity of herbs. Down the hall strode the bishop to perform his abdication duty, a formality, but required. He thoughts upon snacks, high quality, kingly snacks. A slight smile warmed the solemn bishops face a little.
The weak and weary king rose from his throne, raising his hand for silence.
"Thank you for gathering here today. I will not be leaving for awhile yet, but today is the day to release my crown."
Knowing murmers swept through the crowd like a new broom freshly thrashed on a dirt floor.
"Horswald! You have some food, I mean, good, ideas for being king... Where are you?" His aged eyes dart for his friend and servant. "Ahh, there you are..." He laughed and contined,"...at the tortes... Come come!"
Raising his crown, the King says, "Wait a minute!" And sets his crown back on his head. "That is where it goes for now, because..."
Murmurs again swept through the crowd, this time looking like like ripples and waves in a studied bowl of water.
"Tortes please!" He called, his face lifted in triumph.
Laugher and chuckles bounced through the room, echoing softly off the royal walls.
A servant swarms to his side, proffering baked goodies.
Taking a bite, he sits down and crosses his legs, leans back and lifts his arm theatrically, raising the torte high.
"Just kidding." He coughs, projecting a few bits of carbs and sugars out his orifice. More slowly this time, he stands.
"Horswald..." He announced, as he places the torte on the tray before removing his crown. "It is time." The king gestures in front of him, welcoming and insisting the presence of Horswald. Horswald kneels.
Gasps and frustrated noises dared permeate the silence. Many dukes and barons would be forced to change political tactics and other interesting courtly affairs. The royal princes, each shocked in their own despair, --although one secretly relieved for he is a monk at heart--quietly made unsatisfied vocalizations.
"I have made up my mind." Thundered the king. "I am neither required, nor beholden, to any of you!"
"Bishop!" He declared, thrusting the royal crown forward, perhaps the last official thrust the king would ever make. "Horswald is my successor."
---
---
Thanks for reading!
Critiques and comments are appreciated.
More stories can be found in /r/OhLookItsAStory.
| 2016-02-12T16:01:03
| 2016-02-12T13:51:05
| 64
| 12
|
[WP] You saw her in the distance while on a nightly walk, 8 feet tall, 3 eyes like glowing coals, and a crown of horns growing from her head. In other words, gorgeous.
|
Every night I go on walks, hoping to see whether the town legend was true. A legend of a creature wandering the local forest, discribed to be 8 feet tall, long slender arms like branches on a tree, a face so pale and sickly, silky long ebony black hair, three eyes like glowing embers floating in the winter night, teeth like broken glass, and a crown of horns. I was searching for her since... since she was my ideal woman. Every night I go out in search of my one true love, yet every night I come home disappointed. That was until last night.
While walking my regular route I saw something in the near distance. It was her, the legend. I swiftly chased after her. Everytime it looked like I was getting closer to her it felt like the distance doubled. After about 20 minutes I was out of breath. Dispite my physical activeness I was weak. I decided to take a short rest, but when I looked up again she was nowhere to be seen. I sigh a disappointed sigh and decided to go back.
I wandered around the woods for a while but it was no use, I was lost. I thought about retracing my steps but the rain washed out my footprints. It was the middle of the night and there seem to be no sign of life, no chirpping birds, nor singing crickets. I wandered around aimlessly for hours, yet it seemed like the night never ended. I fell to the ground, gripping my stomach in hunger, that was when she appeared.
I looked up. It was her.
"Hello, my dear..."
|
The Christmas parade was over. I went by myself this year, since all of my friends decided to spend time with their families. Being a single male at my age was becoming somewhat boring. The humans didn't realize that I, lowly buck, enjoyed walking around the city at night. From what I heard throughout the city in the past few months, the humans were struggling with a virus. Serves them right. They've killed off plenty of my family, after all.
I decided to enter the road, which was blocked off, from the nearby park. Escaping the comfort of the tree cluster I hid in while observing the parade, I continued on. I made it a bit late to the parade and was hoping I'd find some leftover food from the wasteful humans and their children. Maybe I'd find some delicious candy.
I began walking down the center of the road, down the main street of the city. The glow of the magical orbs surrounding the roads and criss crossing in some areas was mesmerizing. I had to remain focused and remembered why I was here, which was to find some food and head back to my home, which was about a mile and a half away.
I paused. Ahead of me, standing in the center of the road, not more then 100 feet away, was a doe. She was at least 8 feet tall and had a crown of horns which was not very common for deer. What shocked me was the third eye in her head. I cautiously approached. Was she the love I'd been looking for all these years?
As I approached the doe, I noticed she was pretty stiff. Maybe she was nervous to see a buck in an area like this. I gestured a greeting to her, and didn't get a response back. Puzzled, I walked around her in a circle. Nothing seemed wrong. I approached her closer, expecting to get a rebuff or a kick of her hooves. Nothing. I decided to brush my body against hers, and felt semi course fur along with a tingling sensation.
She slowly bowed her head, and raised it back up as I approached her front side again. I was then standing tall, facing in front of her. I walked up to her head and nuzzled my head onto hers, hoping for a response. I'd been turned down by so many does and had all but given up. The response I received from her was horrifying, and was something I'd tell my brethren throughout the rest of my life.
As my head nudged the right side of her head, I dislodged her head, causing it to tilt to the side and clamber down her neck, exposing cords and other slim orbs. This was not a real doe, and as this occurred, a loud screeching sound emerged from the chest area of the doe. I recoiled back, startled, as the doe began to emit sparks and became alight.
I quickly trotted away from the enflamed doe, as the beautiful crowns and face melted into a greyish gloop, and my reality sunk back in. I'd never find a compatible mate. Maybe I'd have better luck next year.
| 2020-11-11T09:38:18
| 2020-11-11T08:53:10
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] the Universe Inc. releases a large patch for their most succesful product, humanity: The Human 1.1. What's in the changelog?
|
Features removed:
- Bellybuttons.
- Appendix.
- Hormonal imbalances.
- Moodiness during puberty.
Male model adjustments:
- Nipples removed.
- Balding removed.
Female model adjustments:
- Body hair removed.
- Appetites due to monthly maintenance removed.
- Monthly maintenance now only takes four hours.
- Reverts to original model state after pregnancies.
General adjustments:
- Spine adjusted for bipedal movement.
- Aging slowed down by 50%.
- Sleep now optional.
- Immune system response time improved by 80%.
- Unhealable damage modifier no longer applies.
Bugfixes:
- Memory leak fixed; buggy behavior after loaded too long shouldn't happen.
- Hair coloring should now remain throughout all character in-game session.
- Aging no longer causes problems in immune system.
- Cancer cells no longer exhibit unexpected behaviors.
- Puberty no longer causes unexpected skin conditions.
- Values for weight can no longer go above design maximum.
|
* It was difficult for some humans to see their own stats, which led them to believe they were worse off than they actually were. We have put a HUD into each human's field of view to constantly give them perspective on their current situation.
* It has been observed that some groups are exploiting others in PvP. All PvP flags have been reset and we have added a "are you sure you want to be vulnerable to other players?" dialog box.
* Some crafting materials had become too scarce or hard to obtain. Getting high no longer requires collected herbs, which had become too expensive in the auction house. Rather, the materials will be available freely from city vendors.
* Some humans resorted to surgery to alter their appearances. We now announce the changing room! See what you'd look like with different hair, a different race!
* Alcohol was not intended to cause intoxication. All of the previous effects have been replaced by a +1 buff to charisma, down from +20.
* Some humans were coded incorrectly for certain proteins, resulting in build-up, which caused a memory leak. This has been fixed.
* In earlier code women were intended to mature emotionally 3% faster than males. This was coded as 3.00, which meant they matured three _times_ faster than expected. This has been addressed.
* Babies no longer shriek as frequently.
* You spoke up and we heard you! So many players complained when the Olmec went extinct, so they're now available in character creation again!
* Gay men now have built-in Grindr and Scruff when they reach level 18. iPhones will still be allowed to run the hand-held versions, but they will not be updated or supported.
| 2014-08-19T10:44:55
| 2014-08-19T10:39:34
| 35
| 12
|
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
|
It's been like this longer than anyone can remember. When you turn the age of power, or 16 years into your life, you gain your individual power. Everyone is different, some get rudimentary boring powers that aid office work and some get drafted to become soldiers due to their powers.. more destructive capabilities.
The neighbour boy Jon, he was taken away just last month by the military because he could EMP a human brain. He did it to me once, I couldnt use any of my senses for a week. Although to you it may seem strange, as you are not from my existance, this isn't a strange occurence. Lives become fragile once a child reaches the age of power and their power becomes known. Jon joined the Static battalion, they specialize in special-ops warfare, he had been 16 for less than 2-months.
Everyone wants to go to the military, become a specialized soldier and when war comes, you want them to remember the coat of arms you wear to signify your power. You want to be the elite, the squad only known as Winged-bearers. Those who can bring absolute destruction, only called in when the enemy is starting to become dangerous. They are the reapers that signify the end, yet the angels who signify hope. Both good and evil. It was my dream to join them, but now.. Now I know I am not meant to be discovered.
It started with Jon actually. That day he used that EMP on me it stuck with me. I could physically see the formation of the universe change as he bent physics to cause havoc on my sensories. In that brief second that formation became imbedded in my mind and mathematics and designs I should never have been able to solve, seemed so simple. I was able to keep the core concept of his ability, yet I refined it, defined it and changed the aspects of it. I was able to designate the sense I wanted to assault. I could control it in ways it shouldn't be used because it changed the basics of the powers nature. But I did it.
And not just Jon's. Any power I became in-contact with physically, became manifested within my mind and I have been able to modify the core concepts of each one to better enhance the power's magnitude or nature.
To put it simply, I am a book of spells, where everyone on our world has a single power, I now have over 30 and that number is growing daily. Original concepts that I have now altered to best suit me, these powers have made me all but human. Super speed I changed to conceptual phase-walking, rubber limbs changed to impenetrable armour. It is all so simple, the values are my power, the power of comprehending knowledge and concepts that are incomprehensible, that is my power. This is why I am here, talking to some stranger under a bridge. Running from the military, passing through different dimensions. I can't stay in one spot for too long, but even I know that it is futile. One day the military will find me and they will make me join the Wing-bearers, and I fear for the day I come in-contact with their powers.
|
Dear Journal:
I turn sixteen in 2 minutes and 27 seconds. I know because I've been awake all night counting the seconds to midnight. Tonight is special and you know why? At midnight I finally Change! I've waited forever but now I finally get a power like everyone else. What do you think it will be, Journal? Will I get x-ray vision like Jason next door? Maybe I'll have super strength like Melissa or even wings like Ethan! As long as it's not Eric's acid breath I think I'll be happy. That poor guy had bad enough breath already, that was the last thing he needed. But anyway it's midnight, it's finally here! I'll keep writing as it happens, I never want to forget this!
-It's 12:02 and I don't feel very different yet, but it has gotten colder in here. I'm wrapped up under my blanket now but so far nothing else. It's so hard to wait, Journal.
-12:10 now, I'm still just cold. Dull pain in my mouth. Might be a toothache, but I'm hoping for poison glands! I'm going to check the mirror.
-Journal, I'm confused now. I can't see myself in the mirror. At first I got really excited thinking I was invisible, but when I look down I still see myself. On top of that my teeth hurt a lot now. This is definitely part of my Change but I'm a bit worried my power is going to suck. I'll be back after I walk around a bit, maybe that will help.
-It's 12:30 and this literally bites. I stubbed my toe on my dresser and bit my to tongue HARD. Normally that's a bad thing but this time it was awful because my teeth are razor sharp. I'm not kidding, they're like a wild animal's. I was worried I bit my tongue in half! Here's the weird part though; instead of blood I spat out dust. Isn't that just stupid, Journal? I mean what am I even Changing into? I can't see myself, my teeth are needles, I bleed dust and-
oh my god, Journal. I think I'm a vampire.
-1:45. My life is over! I'll never see Melissa or Jason or even Eric again! Well I'm sure Jason will see me but that's beside the point. I can't ever see sunlight again, so I can't ever get a tan. Garlic on my hashbrowns? Not anymore! And you know what else I just thought about? I'll have to ask permission every single time I want to hang out in somebody's house. But even then a sleepover is out of the question now too. I even dared to think for a second that I might be able to turn into a bat. Well I can tell you that's not true, Journal, because nothing happened when I jumped off the stairs to test it. I'm fine because I'm guessing I got some sort of vampire strength but still! What's the point if I'm stuck inside all day? I'm not even going to think about the whole sucking blood situation, although I'm sure I could borrow some from the blood bank if I absolutely had to. No, no, no, gross. I'll have to figure something out.
-It's 3:00 and I guess I'm just going to have to live with it. I'm done Changing so that's that. Me. A vampire. Forever. I'm telling everyone I'm sick tomorrow like the rest of the kids who got crap powers. Now I know how Eric felt on his first night. On the bright side at least I didn't melt half of my bed away! Heck, maybe I should just embrace it and move to Romania. That's where the real vampires go, right Journal? They've probably got night classes and everything. Hey, that's not a bad idea. I might even meet some vampire girls over there! Well Journal I think this might be okay! Maybe the next time I write will be from a dark, musty castle overlooking a tiny village. I can't help but laugh! How funny would that be? I'll have to stop writing now, I have a lot to do to make this house vampire-friendly and I should probably find a coffin to sleep in by morning. Ha, that was a joke. Anyway I'm done now. Goodnight/good morning, Journal. ~Your new vampire writer, Victor Orlok
| 2015-01-21T22:56:40
| 2015-01-21T22:26:31
| 32
| 10
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic
|
Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex.
| 2015-12-05T14:46:28
| 2015-12-05T13:59:40
| 158
| 16
|
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it.
|
I'm going to die today.
The doctor is giving me a run down of what will happen when we pull the plug. It will be painless, he says. Despite his reassurance, I can't help but be afraid. I glance over to my wife, my one true happiness in life, and begin to tear up. I can't handle the fact that I will never see her again. I pull her in for one last embrace.
I look back at the doctor and tell him I'm ready.
He gives me a slight nod, and slowly shuts off my wife's life support.
-
Edit : Thank you all for the kind words, when I wrote this obviously I could not have anticipated that it would be so well accepted. I'm glad that a good bunch of you enjoyed this story, as much as I enjoyed writing it.
|
He was ten at the time of the accident.
Unbeknownst to me, Ben's day began like any other. He woke up one minute before his alarm would ring and raced to turn it off. He always loved to beat the alarm clock, he felt like it set him up to keep winning the rest of the day. He showered quickly, skipping shampoo and only really washing his face. He put on his favorite T-shirt, the black one with the Wolverine leaping forward. I always complimented it whenever I saw him in it. He came downstairs and put two Eggo waffles in the toaster.
>"Did you use shampoo this morning?" his mother asked.
She leaned down to smell his hair.
>"Yes, mom," he lied.
This seemed to satisfy her enough as she then walked away. She always fell for it.
After eating, Ben left for school around the same time I would leave for work. He would always get on his bike as I was walking out to my car and call over,
>"Good morning, Mr. Richards!"
But today he didn't. He looked over as if to say hello, but I had already left. He continued as usual to bike to school. He passed my house, the Smith's house, the Robinson's, and even sped up to pass the abandoned house which he knew was haunted. As he reached the fork at the end of the road, he went left. This was a new path for Ben as his school was to the right. I knew this because this is where we usually would go our separate ways. I used to watch Ben going right in my rear view mirror as I would turn left to get to the highway.
Ben continued until he got to the bridge that crossed over the Jamestown river. He stopped and got off his bike. He noticed skid marks on the pavement and stared at them for some time. Then he followed the skid marks. He reached the side of the bridge where the railing had been broken. He reached out and touched part of the railing that was still intact and looked down where I had lost control and of the wheel and drove of the bridge 24 hours before.
>"Good bye, Mr. Richards."
| 2015-06-03T08:22:01
| 2015-06-03T06:23:30
| 2,420
| 197
|
[WP] There is nothing unusual about a man in a business suit carrying a briefcase, rushing off to work. But since he just quickly passed you as you are climbing up Mount Everest in full winter gear, you have questions.
|
"He--hey! Wait up!", I yelled to the stranger only for him to ignore me.
The cold wind and lack of oxygen in this altitude didn't seem to bother him. What bothered me the most was his lack of struggling coursing pass the deep thick blanket of snow.
"Hey you! He--hey!", I kept yelling trying to keep up, disregarding my own well-being.
The man however, kept staring forward. Taking a huge gait with his every step, although as the landscape got steeper he finally slowed down allowing me to catch up.
"Hey! Did you hear me calling you?", I grabbed him by his shoulder.
"Hey watch it! It's an expensive suit! You're going to wrinkle it!", finally he acted like a normal person-- or rather a condescending normal person.
"What the hell are you doing dressed like this?", I yelled fighting against the wind. My full winter gear barely protected my body from the cold, I couldn't imagine how little to no protection his business suit did to him.
"What? What's wrong with how I dress? I dress to impress, always!"
Behind my mask my mouth went agape.
"Man, this is Mount Everest! We are at 8,000 meters right now!", I yelled again.
"I know! Isn't that exciting? I'm almost at the top!"
"Yeah but...you shouldn't dress like that up here! You could die! You should've died long ago!"
"My friend, I don't have time for death! I'm too busy climbing up the ladder to the very top! I will get a bonus and a raise when I do", he smiled.
"Bonus? Raise? What the hell are you talking about? This is not a corporate ladder! Don't you see all the bodies strewn about in the snow? Those people were more prepared than you and they died right here!"
"Well, you can't get to the very top without leaving a trail of dead bodies", he smiled shrugging.
The man, seemingly done with me turned around and kept walking forward, all the way to the summit of the mountain.
I was stunned speechless, not knowing whether the man was a dedicated businessman or a fool who takes metaphors way too seriously.
r/HangryWritey
|
This was supposed to be my life's achievement. We had big projects with Andrew, plans for decades : a home, neighbors, holidays with the family, children... But he couldn't handle the miscarriage, neither could I. He left quietly. I think we talked about it, putting meaningless words on the unexplainable chaos.
Before I realised I was talking with Mom, maybe immediately after, when did he leave again ? She told me don't lie on the ground like a wounded animal, you've been hurt, all right, now take your shit, get them together, and act like a real woman. Mom's never been really gentle, but she's often right. Like that time with the mailman... Or was he the tennis coach ?
Anyway I had to find something, to stay up and outdo myself. It seemed obvious, I had to climb on the tip of the top of the thing, the world, the mountain, that big word. I prepared for months, it kept me busy 24/7, I had to do it and to do it on my own.
Boy wasn't I expecting something like that. The beginning was hard, it was cold, but I was prepared. I kept on going I had to do it. After two days I was exhausted, I kept on climbing. When my hands were si called I couldn't properly open my bag or eat, I kept on going up. When I dropped my bag of food in the ravine, I didn't turn back. Had I made a quick math, I would've drawn the rational conclusions. But I'm not good at math and I kept on believing.
But now, I'm not sure. When I saw that motherfucker rushing past me, with his suit, his briefcase, his glasses, I just said hi. I thought je was just going to get the metro. Where's the nearest metro line by the way ? I don't think I've heard of it. I think he answered. He said hi. He might've smiled at me. I'm not sure. I may take the metro to come down.
| 2021-01-31T23:20:17
| 2021-01-31T22:53:19
| 100
| 55
|
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
"Wh- who are you?" Jennifer asked.
&#x200B;
Jennifer was alone in her kitchen, making some scrambled eggs when she heard *that* voice. When she turned around, there was a little girl standing by the doorway in front of her with blonde hair and a distinctly red ribbon. She looked just like a doll, wearing a pink dress, which made it even creepier as to how unnaturally perfect she looked.
&#x200B;
The voice sounded in her head again, an innocent and cheerful voice of a little girl, a voice she has grown all too familiar with all these years. "Your friend! I know all about you as I am sure you know. I know about your favorite food, what you think of everyone you've met, and I always know what you want to do."
&#x200B;
The combination of the young girl's unmoving mouth and the cheerful voice in Jennifer's head gave her the chills. Jennifer heard the same voice again, but this time it came out of the little girl's mouth. "No need to be so scared and anxious! If it makes you feel any better, I can speak through my mouth as well."
&#x200B;
Jennifer felt relieved at least, that the girl and the voice were actually the same entity, and that the girl was not just like a dead doll. Jennifer crouched down and grabbed the little girl's shoulder and felt a warm sensation flow through her arm. *She was really here*, Jennifer thought. Initially, Jennifer hoped that this little girl before her was just her seeing things. Now, she was even more weirded out and had even more questions.
&#x200B;
The little girl smiled and said, "Of course I am here! I guess you could say I am just as alive as you are." She skipped over to beside Jennifer and hugged her leg, "I am just so glad I finally found you! Also, don't worry, you're not schizophrenic." The little girl affectionately took off her red ribbon and tied it around Jennifer's ankle.
&#x200B;
This was the first time today Jennifer saw the little girl act as if she were a little girl. Also, Jennifer felt relieved that she was not schizophrenic. However, as soon as that feeling came up, she quickly dispelled that feeling of relief as she thought, *Leave it to the voice in your head to tell you that you are not schizophrenic.*
&#x200B;
The little girl slowly let go of her leg and sat down cross-legged on the floor. She stared at the floor in concentration, with her brows slightly furrowed, and Jennifer could hear her voice in her head, *Now, how to explain this so she doesn't panic?*
&#x200B;
Jennifer sat down on the floor in front of the little girl and asked, "Explain what?"
&#x200B;
The little girl looked at Jennifer and smiled, "Well... I'm your guardian angel."
&#x200B;
She smiled wryly and continued, "So I was kinda new to the job and all. Also, I heard some older guardian angels joked around about how easy their job would be if they could just hear the thoughts of the one they were guarding so they could take some precautionary measures."
&#x200B;
Jennifer exasperatedly said, "So basically, you did this to me."
&#x200B;
Jennifer heard the voice speak in her head frustratedly, *I knew this would happen. Okay, okay. Damage control time.*
&#x200B;
The little girl swayed back and forth and said, "I mean, it was more of an accident if it makes you feel any better. You see, I *miiight* have just found a sealed black book with some glowing eyes on the cover, and it also had a spell to connect us."
&#x200B;
Jennifer raised an eyebrow and asked blandly, "Let me guess, there's a catch."
&#x200B;
Jennifer suddenly hear the voice scream in her ear, *Damn! She asked about it!* Jennifer winced and quickly covered her ear, glaring at the little girl.
&#x200B;
The little girl waved her arms and said, "Ahhh, sorry about that. So, yeah. There is a teeny little small catch. We are kind of linked together. I die when you die and so on. I was not supposed to be able to get an unaging human form that is immortal and stuck at age 7. Furthermore, since I received a human form, I somehow appeared on a random place on Earth."
&#x200B;
Jennifer could hear the voice mumble, *I am so glad I did not appear right on top of a volcano.* The girl continued, "So, anyways, once you leave this human plane, I can move on as well! On the bright side, you can be a guardian angel too!"
&#x200B;
Jennifer felt her right ankle grow increasingly hot, to the point where it felt like burning. Jennifer tried tugging the red ribbon off, but it seemed as if it was melded together with her leg. Jennifer thought, *What the hell is going on?*
&#x200B;
The little girl laughed cheerfully, "Oh, we're just switching bodies. I found out about this spell in the ominous spell book I used to merge us together initially. I am sure this spell fixes what I have done to merge us beforehand. I am so done with this young body. Did you know you can't buy an airplane ticket at age 7? Why do you think it took me 30 years to get here?"
&#x200B;
Jennifer felt her vision grow blurred, and she blacked out. A few moments later, Jennifer opened her eyes and discovered that she was in some village. There were small concrete buildings, each with a small courtyard at the entrance. The roads were all dirt and people rode worn-down bikes instead of cars. The strange thing was that all the buildings and people seemed taller than she was used to.
&#x200B;
She glanced at her ankle and found no ribbon to her relief. However, Jennifer's expression distorted once she felt a ribbon on the top of her head. Jennifer eavesdropped and heard the villagers speak in a strange language she has never heard before.
&#x200B;
Jennifer thought, *Where the hell am I?*
&#x200B;
She heard a response in her head: The sound of a baby's cries.
&#x200B;
\-----------------
&#x200B;
Thanks for reading! Suggestions and comments would be appreciated!
|
As I lay awake in my bed, never once my own thoughts rang through my head, always those of an unfamiliar persons, I toss and turn as the voice rings clear as in my own head, "Turn around.... Did I find you?"
The color in my face drains as I stare at my wardrobe, *Please....dear God say it isn't so....*
"Oh.... It is so, and for thirty seven years..... I've had your sick perverted thoughts ringing through my head, and I am done." She presses a hand into my mattress climbing into the bed. "I really want to meet the man whose thoughts have intruded my mind for as long as we've been alive...." Her other hand lays along my chest and pulls me to face her.
*No no nononono.....* My stark white face turns and what I see is.... Impossible, sans the long hair she looked exactly like me, mousey brown hair, deep green eyes with specks of brown throughout, a sharp pointed nose with enormous caterpillar eyebrows. I blink a few times and have a tough time imagining why we were so familiar.
"You....look just like me!" *What the fuck....* My mind is reeling as I seem to stunned to say or think anything. My mouth opens and only a gasp comes out.
Finally I gather my thoughts, blinking a few times a thought comes to mind.... *I'm glad I'm not vain.....*
A chuckles comes from the look alike girl, "That would make this a whole lot more awkward...." I stare at her in disbelief... forgetting for a moment that one, she broke into my house, and bee, she can hear every single thought of mine.
"Wh....How did you find me?" I state with an abruptness that would put most brakes to shame. "Why are you here? Why is this happening to us? I've been on medication for something nobody understood for literal decades..... It never helped.... Your voice still shone through even at a maximum dosage.... Did you still hear your own thoughts? Too....many questions...." The color returns to my face as I reach up to grab my ears and squeeze away the torrent of questions welling up inside my mind.
Her face flushes red as she screeches, my what a noise... As if there is a microphone with terrible feedback....
-----
I wake up the next morning strapped to my comfortable bed....
"Turn around..... Did *I* find *you*?" A familiar, yet unfamiliar to my ears, voice calls to me from the floor....
=====
Thanks for reading, my first time writing... And posting here! Hope it was a good read!
| 2019-09-14T10:27:39
| 2019-09-14T10:23:14
| 111
| 25
|
[WP] No one in the galaxy ever assumed that Earth would amount to anything because of its extreme gravity for a life-bearing world - anything trying to escape the planet's gravity well would need to BE 97% fuel weight, and the idea that they would try was a ludicrous concept.
Repost, no one responded before.
EDIT: Thank you guys so much! I never expected something so small to turn great and take reddit by storm! But keep in mind, this wasn't me. I simply reposted. The real hero is a reddit user named AnCapGamer, the original creator of this prompt.
|
It was a doomed world, crippled and imprisoned by its own crushing gravity. It was a hopeless cauldron of life, with every promising species exterminated by the inevitable comets and extinction-level events that the third world of Sol pulled into its vast orbit and obliterated in surface impacts.
Had it been the cold, yet lighter, Martian planet that bore life then things would have been different, but its atmosphere and water bled away a billion years too soon. Nor was Terra one of the promising moons, blessed with tectonic activity and weak enough gravity to give birth to one of the space-faring races.
Nothing would ever live long enough between the extinction-level events on the blue planet to craft ships, nor would they ever be able to escape from the pull of that monstrous gravity well. It was an impossible nightmare for the apes that built cities on that forsaken planet.
And yet...
And yet, they did not hesitate, nor did for a moment recognise that it was their irrefutable fate to die trapped on their prison world.
They built weapons, crude projectiles that barely skimmed the thinnest layers of their atmosphere. Then they strapped themselves to them, launching lives into space with an attrition rate and grotesque failures and tragedies that no civillised race would ever deem acceptable or push beyond.
Such terrible and vast creations, barely-contained explosions and crude multi-stage engines that rumbled and thundered skyward. So wasteful, with just a tiny fraction of their vehicles ever reaching low orbit. This did not stop them reaching their moon not once, but three times in fragile landing craft driven by pyrotechnics.
They lost people, entire space programmes went up in flames and smoke. They hurled disposable probes into space seemingly at random, learning with every mistake and tragedy. They mourned but they never slowed for long.
In utter spite of the crushing gravity of their insane home world, the humans forced ever-increasingly vast ships and structures into orbit. They had done the impossible.
They had only just begun.
Free of gravity's cruel grasp, their orbital shipyards began work on fleets of exploration vessels. The humans were coming. The galaxy trembled, for what would the dauntless creatures and their unthinkable machines do when they arrived?
|
Habitable Body 00173, or as its dominant species refers to it, "Earth", has always been sort of a running joke between my colleagues and I.
It's a bit of a paradoxical planet, as although the most sentient life form very closely resembles our own in both physiological and aesthetic aspects (the notable difference being the location and size of our respective olfactory organs), and the surface and diameter of the planet itself are very similar to our own home's, it's core is made almost entirely of heavy metals like iron and nickel, nearly tripling it's mass compared to ours. The resulting adjustment to the force of gravity at the surface of the planet would make any interplanetary travel nearly impossible based on our calculations at the time.
This was many cycles ago, and our government was very different then, as I'm sure you've read in class. The moral dilemma emerged then of what to do with our newfound "brother species". Many people wished us to reach out to them, and welcome them to the galaxy, while others argued that such an intrusion would only lead to conflict, as I imagine the knowledge that their species is going to be confined to a dying planet and doomed to be driven to extinction with it would not sit very well with them.
In the end, it was decided that we would stay out of their affairs for the time being, but keep a watchful eye. After all, it was the case study of a life time: a species remarkably biologically similar to our own on a planet almost identical to ours with only a single major variable changed (I'm writing of the gravity of course, not the noses)? The odds of finding such a perfect experiment out in the galaxy is so minutely small as to be assumed it will never occur again.
Cycles passed, and we observed the infant species grow and mature at a simply unprecedented rate. It's technological progress was quite like our own in the beginning, but began to accelerate as time went on. These "Earthlings" show an alarming capacity for creative problem solving, and began making discoveries that rivaled even the greatest of our own. Considering our relative age and much more favorable planetary conditions, they quickly became a regular topic of discussion in all areas of scientific study. In fact, some of the technology we have today is a direct result of our observation of their development, most notably the light-emitting diode, or LED, which has significantly cut energy costs for lighting in a large portion of the explored galaxy.
We watched these Earthlings grow, shared pride in their successes, ainguish in their failures, and passion in their diverse art and culture. We even watched them launch some things into orbit, an impressive feat for such a handicapped planet. If only they knew the futility of their efforts, we thought. Amid the exhilaration of watching the species develop, its inevitable demise loomed on the horizon, and we couldn't help but fall into various bouts of depression throughout the process. Leaving orbit was going to be impossible for them, and when their star burned out, they would have nowhere to go. At one point, the destruction of the planet was proposed, some seeking to end the Earthlings' plight before they fall into the turmoil and despair that would certainly follow the self awareness of their fate.
That is until one day, we went into the lab one morning to find a small blip on our radar, located outside of the planet's orbit.
At this point, they had successfully sent several objects out of orbit, but with only machinery and materials on board. There had been an ongoing project for some time involving a mission with a lifeform on board, but we had dismissed it already, deeming it impossible, and focused our observation on other areas.
Well clearly, it wasn't.
The Earthlings, or "humans" as they call themselves and as we have since referred to them as, had surpassed all expectations and completely taken the galaxy's scientific community by storm. The implications of this event were far-reaching, as you might imagine, but we couldn't help but feel a twang of fear watching that manned spacecraft leave orbit.
You see, having such a larger gravitional force has led the humans to significantly outclass us in every concievable physical aspect. The strength of even the smallest of the species is several orders of magnitude greater than our own. Not only that, but they've shown a remarkable level of resourcefulness, accomplishing feats our own species could only dream of completing at their developmental stage. They've extended the lifespan of their planet by a ridiculous amount of time.
You might think that such a species would make a great addition to the council, and an excellent intellectual force to collaborate with, but there's more.
The humans have also shown a natural tendency towards mostly-unprovoked aggression, even within their own species. Despite their technological feats and their development of planet-wide societal systems, they harbor hatred towards one another on the basis of appearance and origin, something that your generation finds completely absurd, I'm sure.
The point is that the adaapatability and destructive nature of such a race poses a dangerous threat to the established galactic hierarchy. One must wonder what they'll do when encountering a species as different from them as our own, and I'm not just writing of the noses.
Perhaps destruction of the planet doesn't seem so bad after all.
| 2016-03-31T17:18:54
| 2016-03-31T16:35:15
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] The lottery is an Institution designed to catch Time Travelers.
|
When I was a child I made a mistake. My school had a set of farm animal toys. I loved the donkey. It was less obnoxious than the family of horses and more interesting than the sheep and cows. There were many of those but only one donkey. I played with it every day at every opportunity and sometimes I would put it in my pocket and let it ride around on me in the lunch break and designated play times.
One day a new kid arrived in school. She sat next to me and everything started off fine. She liked farm animals too. At first she was content to play with the sheep, jumping them over fences and the like. When sheep weren't enough she played with the cows. Daisy and her friends got in quite the set of adventures. But even the cows couldn't sate her hunger. She wanted more. The horses barely lasted a week. I could see where this was headed and I didn't like it. Not one bit.
I turned up to school on a particular thursday and it had happened. The donkey was gone, and she had it. I sat next to her and watched my donkey pull imaginary carts around the field. I wanted it back. I watched her feed my donkey imaginary sugar lumps. I wanted it back. I watched my donkey frolic with the other animals. I took it back! I ran from the classroom to the outside whereupon I threw it over the fence into the bushes. If my donkey and I couldn't play then no one could. I stood shaking for a while then cried and cried and cried.
I regretted my actions, my mistake. I waned my donkey back. If only I could go back in time...
An excellent idea I thought. So I screwed up my eyes and tried really hard. I willed myself back. I remembered my donkey sailing over the fence and imagined me being there catching it and putting it in my pocket. I checked my pocket but my donkey wasn't there. I tried a few more times but it quickly became clear that I couldn't time travel. Now I needed a new plan. I needed someone who could do it.
I sit in my chair. It is comfy, very comfy. The best that money could buy, if you didn't want one of those irritable vibrating chairs that offer so called "massages" but really convince you that either your back is going to break or the chair will. But it is an excellent chair. A tasteful shade of grey. A good number of wheels so that I can slide from end to end of my imposing mahogany desk. It commands the room. Almost a dining table sized desk yet it only had three allocated chairs. One is very comfy, the others not so. They aren't bad but if you sat in one you knew that you are not going to be sitting in it for long. Uncomfy chairs keep meetings short. That is what I had discovered and it is what I like. This is my domain. I am king of Camalot and this is my throne.
Over a score of years had built up to this point. Building my kingdom. Putting everything together. Starting the national lottery had been no small feat. I needed something that had a huge reward. A small tax on everyone in the country is a logical way to gather that money. I needed something that was utterly predictable with hindsight. The numbers go out in all the papers so all you need is an old paper. This is a foolproof plan. I chuckle to myself, why if I were a time traveller how could I resist such an opportunity.
Now all I have to do is wait then we can go back and correct that mistake.
|
First writing prompt: please let me know if I did bad or horrible.
About 70% of lottery winners go broke. Want to know why?
The government, or at least the USA has knowledge of time travelers. After a 20-something year old man won the lottery 3 times in a row, they believed the man to be cheating. After a quick chat, or should I say interrogation, the man quickly gave up and leaked that time travelers are wondering to the past, using knowledge of lottery ticket numbers to gain wealth. Since then the government has given out knowledge of this to other president, king, prime minister, etc, there is. Most of them did nothing, believing the president had gone mad, but few had believed him. Ever since then the lottery has been rigged for nobody to win. After a man or woman wins, they are immediately apprehended and taken into custody. After taking all the answers they have the time travelers have their wealth taken away. If the person wins the lottery again? They are arrested and swiftly executed.
I had discovered this important information after I had unearthed a deceased time travelers time machine. Along with a diary/journal and important dates. I've been hiding from the public ever since then, rarely ceding from my house, in fear of changing the future and adjusting time and history itself. I shouldn't have read it, I could have saw it, destroyed it and lived on the rest of my life in ignorance about the major discovery I could have not made.
As of right now they are trying to capture all time travelers. I cannot do anything to save them, I cannot go to the past to change it, I cannot go to the future to change it either. Greedy time travelers are doomed, because of this they created an alternate universe. They may even cause a paradox, ending all time. All for stupid greed.
Only time itself will present the change occurring from these events.
| 2014-10-30T17:03:02
| 2014-10-30T16:28:14
| 74
| 53
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
"I don't get it, how? How did you do it" the warden said as he signed the release form.
"That's the thing, I didn't do anything, you guys did with your stipulations and what not" I said grinning at the warden.
If my requested last meal wasn't prepared and ready for me within a year, I'd be a free man is what they had told me. Nothing more nothing less, people had tried for the most outlandish things such as dragon steak, alien egg omelettes etc. But the prison had provided because their stipulations never stated the meal had to fit the intent rather it had to fit the writing.
An alien egg omelette for instance sounds impossible, I mean we've never found any sign of alien life. But I had noticed when they brought these outlandish things that an alien egg for instance in this case had been the egg of a Kiwi bird because by definition it was alien to our country. Same thing with dragon steak or the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, komodo dragon steak, communion wafers and communion wine. The face on the guy who'd ask for the flesh and blood of Jesus had a bit of a shock at that one.
So as I awaited my execution, awaited my turn to request I thought long and hard about it. Until I came to a conclusion so sick and twisted even demons would be in awe. So as the request personal came through and told me it was time. I requested the one thing they could not bring me ever due to a birth defect, but I wouldn't tell them that.
"Prisoner D-666, what do you request as your last meal? If we can not prepare it for you within a year you're free to go. You will continue to be fed regular meals until such a time we can procure it, because starvation would not be in the spirit of this."
"I wish to eat my first born by blood. I shall refuse to eat anything served proclaiming to be as such without written confirmation of paternity from five separate laboratories."
"Very well you sick fuck, if that is your request don't expect to wait too long." they said.
Days came and went, after a week they started bringing volunteers from the women's section all in the hope of providing me with my first born by blood. Why they did not do artificial insemination was because I had refused any medical examination as that was not part of the deal.
The real reason I had refused medical examination was because I've been shooting blanks since I was born. Infertile since birth, but now I was a free man.
|
“Who is set for execution today?” Mathew polished his blade as Judge Marin set up the death room.
“Edelphis,” Marin responded, “Finally getting rid of that fucker.”
“‘Bout time. I know the King really hated him.” Mathew switched to the next weapon, cleaning it thoroughly.
“Well, he did kidnap the princess. Twice.” Marin finished preparing the King’s throne and took a long glance around the room, “This will do fine. I’ll send the guards to get his last meal going.”
Mathew nodded and headed to his chambers for his own lunch. Execution could take hours, and it was important he ensured he was properly fed and hydrated in advance. He sat and ate his meal, awaiting the guards’ call, when a knock on the door was heard.
Mathew groaned and approached the door, opening it to reveal the guards, early.
“Gentlemen, is it time already?”
“Mathew, no, it’s-. We can’t-. Marin said we need to-.”
“What is it? Spit it out.” Mathew rolled his eyes and leaned against the door frame. The guards were always so out of it, like they’d had too much ale at lunch or something.
“Mathew, he’s requested to eat … you.” Mathew’s gaze shifted behind the guards to meet the eyes of Marin, who painfully stared back at him.
“What?” Mathew responded, stifling a laugh. What on earth was this prisoner trying? Clearly he knew there were limitations to his request.
“Mathew, the King really doesn’t want to let this one go. We are going to have to abide by the orders.” Marin sighed, “Please prepare your goodbyes.” He turned and walked away from Mathew, his dear friend of twenty years.
But Mathew wasn’t having it. This has gone far enough. These prisoners- they had to learn when enough was enough. So Mathew prepared his goodbyes, alright. He gathered up his essentials and he climbed through his window. And then he was gone - off as fast as his feet would carry him.
And when Marin and the guards returned to collect the prisoner’s last meal, they found empty chambers.
“Who’s going to tell the king?” One of the guards asked Marin, and Marin stared in disbelief.
“The King will never let this prisoner go. Someone’s going to be a meal today and it’s NOT me.”
But deep down, they all knew that this might be the day a prisoner was freed from the dungeon.
| 2022-07-17T20:01:08
| 2022-07-17T19:48:17
| 129
| 63
|
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do?
|
"I will speak for her."
The Archmage was taken aback. "She must be strong," he said wryly.
His assumption, while misguided, was that the woman's trauma was so terrible that it had left her mute, and that was what made her so powerful. But, as I said, misguided.
I shook my head, and translated the Archmage's words to her. The whispery dialect, while not fluent, came to me easily enough, "Hass nasst mos tuss katast."
She nodded, keeping her stern look. She turned to the Archmage and spoke. I translated: "I can speak and understand, but not in your language."
The Archmage tilted his head and leaned on his staff. "Is this some sort of demented trick?"
I chuckled and shook my head, dutifully translating back to the woman. She chuckled as well, and responded.
"Are you familiar with Quor'toth?" I translated.
The Archmage furrowed his brow. "The Hell dimension?" I nodded. The Archmage slowly shook his head at her in a disgusted awe. "No..."
She spoke again, and I translated once more, "I was subjected to that land for my childhood. Learned that life. I had no knowledge of the magic system of my home reality, and simply accepted the horrors of the world I lived in. But now, I can tap into unimaginable power. As if I've been rewarded for my torment."
The Archmage's eyes were now wide and he wore a twisted smile. "Show me what you're made of," he said, raising his staff in defense.
After I translated, she snapped her fingers. I looked at the Archmage, who was now analyzing the two pieces of his once-whole staff.
The Archmage began to let out a maniacal laugh. I began to wonder why I'd ever taken up demonic translation.
|
[P1]
It’s been a rough day. Once again, I was not heard when I spoke up months ago. Just as it always goes. I try my best to tell people what I see. But they never listen to me. Now I am packing up my desk because of layoffs. Layoffs that would have been prevented if people had more faith in what I predicted. I should know by now I can’t control these things. My eyes start to water as I begin to think about Lucy. The last day, I admit I was too protective and I should have given her space yet the panic that set in when she said she was leaving me… I begged her to stay. It was not a selfish request. I had the worst fear about her on that day however I knew not what caused me this angst. All I could communicate was a measly “please don’t go” as she closed the front door. That night, I got a call from the police. She had been in a wreck. I was her emergency contact; she died on impact.
Now, looking at my empty boxes and full drawers after getting laid off… It’s crippling. I don’t know what to do. Go home? Apply again? Repeat? There’s no way I can do this till I die. I need Lucy. I need something.
After packing it all up and getting it all into my car, I go home. It’s a 45 minute commute of tears. When I finally reach my house, it’s as if every ounce of energy is gone from my body. The black is creeping in from my peripheral vision. Something isn’t right. I hear a loud ringing just as my vision completely blacks out.
I wake up atop a cobble path. I see two white high heels in front of me. My heart sinks as I must have thought she was Lucy. Immediately after standing up, I am corrected. In a raspy high pitched voice that does not match her frail body she says, “Hmm… would you like some coffee? We have a nice place just around the lot.”
I reluctantly agreed as I had no clue where I even was. After walking for what honestly felt like seconds, we were there. I looked back to see where I came from and nothing was familiar to me.
“Are you okay dear” she asks, puzzled by my frantic behavior. “Yes, I’m fine. Just lost?” I reply.
“Oh sweety, you are not lost. You have just been found. Tell me…” She pauses for only what I can imagine is suspense. “What do you want to drink?” She lets out holding back a cackle.
That’s when it hits me. I can’t even read the menu. Not in a “Oh I’m too far from home” type of way but in a “Oh shit, this isn’t earth.” Type of way. I immediately begin to panic, tears begin to fill my eyes. As, I’m about to break, wind hits me. Not just any wind though, it passes through what felt like every atom in my being. And just as it started, it had stopped. And I was calm. More so than I’ve ever been. Just as I regain my composure I see her slip something into her pocket.
She communicates with the person making the drinks and I follow her to the table once she had them in hand.
“So what is this” I ask.
“This is Montigora. You wake up here when you have been chosen.” She says as she looks up and into my soul.
“Chosen? Chosen for what? There’s got to be a mistake. I don’t get chosen. That’s not me.”
“Chosen to protect. We here at Montigora are what you would classify as wizards or magicians. They are not born; they're made or rather selected. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. However, it is their heart that allows them to be chosen. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma and their power is linked to their emotions. So tell me child, what can YOU do?”
I looked at this old woman asking me questions. With confusion flooding my brain I manage to spill out “I don’t know. Who are you and why am I chosen?”
I can feel my broad shoulders turning inward as anxiety fills my soul while I wait for a response. The old woman’s face begins to wrinkle at the concept of not knowing my power.
“What is your worst fear?” She asks after thinking for a while.
“My worst fear has came to be. The love of my life died because I couldn’t express what I was feeling right. I knew she was in danger that day. I knew not the extent. And now her blood feels imbedded into my hands.”
The old woman smiles at me and says two words; “Older pain.”
As the words escape her lips I am hit with my early life, the scene of me crying in the backseat of a car. My mother was trying to console me. When she turned around I cried harder as this feeling inside me was raging like a wildfire. Then there was a lot of glass. Blood…
“The car wreck.” I murmur.
“Yes!” She says with excitement grinning ear to ear. “The car wreck!” she laughs. “Now that you are older, do you see?”
“See what?” I ask almost insulted.
“You have a good heart. The emotions you feel in these moments are not real emotions. They an entire novel you can read with training. They are telling you exactly what is going to happen next. When you don’t listen and it’s imperative, they scream”
| 2022-04-26T11:56:52
| 2022-04-26T10:55:23
| 22
| 10
|
[WP] You are a cook in the navy. Everyone thinks you're an idiot, but unbeknownst to them, you are the navy's secret weapon... along with all the other navy cooks.
|
"Why is this steak so hard?" the customer complained loudly as I bowed by his table. I shamefully replied, "You said you wanted it well done, so I cooked it such that it was done well." The customer, livid yet speechless, turned red as he stared at the mess of a cow on his plate. I kept my apologetic face on the outside, but no one would know what I was thinking within.
"Agent Elrick. Subject shows aversion to Chemical 145 and is susceptible to sea sickness. Revealing agent says he has 32 torpedoes ready, but they need 2 days to be sent. Roger," I said as I left the table. It was another mission and another target, another man threatening the safety and sovreignty of our country. No one ever thought highly of chefs, particularly retarded ones, so the disguise was fitting. Of all the posing chefs, I was the lead, the main server and tester. The rest had various jobs to complete; the new trainee was in charge of cooking the food, though he wasn't very good at it. Luigi, our second most senior member (second only to me) took charge of relaying messages and making the chemicals in the food *extremely* hard to sense. The rest of the jobs were just standard ones to keep the restaurant running. The allure of eating at our navy and hearing our state secrets was an enticing one for disguised diplomats, spies and even heads of state. But though they thought coming here was smart, the only people leaving with intel was us. The idiots no one ever suspected.
The polish navy commander stepped in a week later, his dress a conspicuous white amongst the sea of black in the restaurant. Acting like normal waiters, we gave him the usual routine, extracting their navy strength, commanders and plans. With it, the navy prepared a counter-offensive on the day they planned to attack. Stationed, the navy awaited commands, and sure enough, the Polish came knocking on the door for death. We knew they only had 16 torpedoes in their artillery, so once we dodged them, we knew the game was over.
Or so we thought.
Charging in, the submarines lazily floated in groups, since the ballistic threat was gone. But suddenly, 5 more missiles headed our way, the blast of light the last we saw of our mighty navy. As the Polish advanced on, they sent us a message over Morse.
Turns out they could fake chemical results too.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
|
They think I'm an idiot, yeah. Oh sure. Oh sure. They think. CUT TO MUSHROOMS SAUTÉING. PEPPERS CHOPPED, SPRAYING INTO LIGHT, THEIR JUICE. All my life, they thought I was. Yeah. Just gotta idiot look they said, just look like an idiot. You know what I see in the mirror? I don't know, I'm thinking about other shit. CUT TO POT, METAL, FIRE, FLASH, POTATO, HEAPS OF POTATO, HE PEELS FURIOUSLY. I'm thinking how we got to work together. SKIN LEAPING IN AIR, LIKE CHILDREN ON A TRAMPOLINE. Us, cooks, yeah. We all know something. CUT TO EYES, SQUINTING IN RECOGNITION. HEAD NOD, ZOOM.
"Hey, cookie. You're a fucking dumb ass piece of fucking nut shit, you know that?"
SALT. I say, "Look. Don't-- How I am gonna, there's only so..." I'm distracted, task at hand at all. PLASTIC WRAPPED OVER YEAST, CUT TO FRIALATER, CUT TO SPICE CELLAR. ALL THE SPICE JARS EXIT THEIR HOLDERS SYNCHRONOUSLY VIA CGI.
"Cookie, I swear to God, I'm amazed all over again. Special."
CHIVES WAITING IN FOREST JUMP CUT TO CHIVES WAITING IN POT. I say, "I've been training so hard--" SAUSAGES SIZZLING, SEXY.
"Are you meaning to speak in slow motion? Are you doing that on purpose? You're my favorite, cookie."
I had been and didn't realize it. EXPLOSIONS OF FLAVOR. I take a swing at him and he walks away, I think, I'm not sure. YOUNG DISHWASHER SWEATING PROFUSELY. Asshole. COMMANDER BITING APPLE. They don't know what this is. ONE HUNDRED COOKS LINED UP, JETS IN BACKGROUND. ONE LOUD: HA! We're the secret weapon, us cooks. RACK FOCUS, COOKS FACES. THEY LOOK AT AN ENEMY FLEET. Our training regiment is real, real, I mean for real. THE COMMANDER YELLS. THE COOKS REPLY: HA! Give us the signal. TABLES STUFFED WITH FOOD LIKE THANKSGIVING. We will deliver... SAILORS GORGING. ...the likes of which the world has never seen... SAILORS GORGING. ...or known. SAILORS GORGING.
SAILORS GROWING RED. STRONG. HAPPY. FULL OF FIGHTING ENERGY. +1 ATTACK SPEED TO THE CARRIER.
| 2017-07-19T23:27:59
| 2017-07-19T23:25:31
| 64
| 43
|
[FF] Wish for anything in the universe... in 3 words or less. <150 on how the wish turns out
|
"No black people."
"Wow..." St. Peter actually stepped back from his podium. "That's just... wow."
"So...?"
"Oh... Oh! NO! Are you crazy? I told you it was a test! You really think that's the right answer?"
"I just assumed... because god made us all in his image, that-"
"You're fucking mental! I've never heard a worse answer! Do you know how long I've been doing this?"
"So what do I... like, is there an appeal...?"
"Oh, no. You go to hell. Like now. Sooner than now. You should've been there five minutes ago."
"Well... god damn it."
"Dude. You've got to shut up. Seriously."
|
"Come back, please."
She stopped and turned, I looked at her with longing eyes for the love we once had. She shakes her head no and as I screamed for help with tears in my eyes the light engulfs her wonderful figure, and those beautiful legs once again walk away form me.
Then I wake up.
| 2013-10-12T10:19:01
| 2013-10-12T06:35:24
| 27
| 13
|
[WP] You’re on a passenger on a plane and look out the window. You see Malaysian Airlines Flight 370 flying right there, next to your own flight. Other passengers spot the 2016 missing Indian Air Force Plane as well. You soon realize you’re flying among all the missing planes in history.
|
There was a time when flying felt like freedom. The first machines, those of the early pioneers, rattled along with little more than bolts and braces - a constant racket of creaking canvas and shaking metal. That gave way to the hot puffs and gargles of engines. Later, the soaring crescendo of jet engines as they reached their maximum, hurling huge hulks into the sky.
But for a time, before it all became ready meals, no leg room and those hinkey screens, flight was beautiful. Serene, almost. I remember the first time I took my kite into the sky and let its engine cut. Nothing but the whistle of air and the cool breeze on your face. Then, up in a heaven of golden sunlight and blue skies, you'd start her up again and drift elegantly over a carpet of endless white. Hot damn, it was something special. Cold as all Henry - something that made you huddle up in your jacket - but even so, the kind of feeling all pilots yearn for. You flew like a bird, up there alone.
We were cruising like that just after dawn, trying to hold her up even though we were flying on vapors. Howland was nowhere to be seen, and all we had below was pure, endless blue ocean. Funny thing, flying over the Pacific - the dawn snaps like turning on a light switch, so one moment it's pitch dark, the next you're dazzled by total light. Fred tried to get a fix but we couldn't find the darn strip, so instead just cruised up and down, North and South, looking for smoke signals on the horizon. I don't think we ever thought we wouldn't make it. I don't think we ever felt alone.
And then Fred looks out the window, and says "Would you look at that." So I follow his finger, and there it is - a stream of planes up in the sky. All flying in formation, all flying the same direction. We hadn't seen anything like half of 'em. They were crates that shouldn't have made 200 feet, biplanes, fighters, sleek looking metal birds and giant behemoths like something Mr Howard Hughes was always babbling about trying to get up. One of the kites even looked like Nungesser and Coli.
"Well, not like we have much choice," says Fred, and I agree. So I point us up, and we slip into the formation. And then the strangest thing. The engine just stopped out of juice, but we kept on up there. We weren't gliding - the rotor kept turning - but the engine noise faded away. Gradually, I took my hand off the controls and just let her ease into line with the rest of 'em, and along we flew - in clear sky and easy weather. We started to recognise them all. Came to know them all. Came to know where we were flying toward. It was freedom.
And everything felt beautiful.
|
"Test- Testing, is this thing on?"
The voice cuts into the plane like a knife. It is not the voice of our jovial captain, who'd been making friendly remarks all flight. The man speaking to us is a stranger.
Confused murmurs begin, and soon the sense of unease spreads like wildfire on oil. People start turning their heads left and right, as if to confirm that it isn't just happening to them. That they haven't gone insane.
I'm no different. There's a sinking feeling in my gut, though I can't quite tell why.
"Well, for starters, explaining isn't gonna cut it right now, so would you all mind taking a look out of your windows?"
The voice is oddly nonchalant, but people do what it says regardless. Collective gasps fill the cabin, and one woman shrieks.
We see planes. Many planes. We're hanging in the sky as if suspended by some unknown force, and we're surrounded on all sides by a myriad of planes.
I recognise the one to our left. It is the plane flown by the Indian Air Force. The aircraft had been plastered on media for quite sometime, disappearing without a trace. They'd eventually had no choice but to shrug it off. Such was the hopelessness of their situation.
Below it is the Malaysian Airlines 370, having disappeared a good four years back. Another enigma, lost in history.
I spot more planes. Older planes, like the America, and the Hawaii Clipper. Newer, futuristic models too, sleek planes whose designs I've never come across. I've spent countless hours studying planes, so it stands to reason that I would know their names by heart. I marvel at the sight of these lost planes, while simultaneously feeling a looming sense of dread.
"To put it simply, you've all been extracted from your respective timelines. I'll give you a minute to let that set in."
The voice simply relays that piece of information as if it were stating the weather.
The cabin erupts with several roars of outrage. Vulgar words curse at the unknown voice, businessmen and parents alike unable to tolerate such a scenario. People begin to threaten. To cry. To pray.
I'm not quite certain what I should be doing, if I'm being fairly honest. Perhaps I'm in shock. That much seems real. As real as the hundreds of planes flying alongside us, hanging like marionettes.
"Settle down, settle down-" The voice booms, as if attempting to make itself heard. Somehow it is.
"In a few hours or so, you'll be arriving in a new world. I will accept no questions at this stage, for the amount of exposition I will have to deliver is astounding, and you'd be surprised how heavy my workload is."
The voice continues amidst the chaos. A baby cries somewhere. A woman continues to pray very loudly.
"But we can't really bring in everyone, see. If I had to give a rough estimate, well, one, two- give me a moment- around half of you should be able make it across. By that, we mean planes, of course. Half of all the planes here, plucked from all of time."
I swallow. I want it all to stop, but it doesn't seem like it will.
"What does that mean, you ask? In summary, the greatest Midair Battle Royale of all time is about to begin. Best of luck, and may the best plane win."
The voice cuts off into static, and I'm left uncertain, hungry, and wishing I'd waited a couple days before booking a flight to see my mother.
There's no possible way any of this could be real.
But if it is, and this really is just a game where our survival hangs in the balance-
I take a look outside once more, staring at the countless planes before me hopelessly.
I need to go home. I need to win.
| 2018-08-23T01:20:39
| 2018-08-23T01:18:43
| 140
| 28
|
[WP] You accidentally divide a number by zero on an ancient mechanical calculator. It loops calculations over and over, with no signs of stopping. Centuries later, it produces an output.
|
"Professor! The calculator just spat out a number for 1/0!"
"Gah! One of the gears must be jammed. I don't think they've lubricated this mechanism since I got my bachelors'."
"So the number it just stopped on isn't some profound answer pertaining to the mysteries of the universe?"
"No, that's nonsense! The dials on it should never stop rolling over."
"Why does the math department even have this device running?"
"We have to waste our grant money somehow."
|
The greatest computer in the universe was finished with its task. An entire planet to calculate the question to the answer to life, the universe, and everything.
The galaxy waited with bated breath for the calculation to complete but suddenly a phenomenon was propagating across the computer. Around the globe creatures of all types stopped what they were doing, looked at the sky and began to chant. News crews flocked to the planet, babel fish were dispersed and sentients from across the galaxy visited the planet to hear and understand the question for the ultimate answer.
After weeks of celebration and parties held by visiting aliens, activity began to die down. Soon after, the native creatures ceased their droning into the sky, began to awaken, sit where they had stopped weeks ago, and slip into comatose states. With no memories left to release the entire computer stagnated and began to shut down. IT was contacted and technicians were sent out to attempt to turn it off and back on again but it was no use. Malicious code inserted centuries prior had changed the directive to a pursuit for the answer of life divided by zero and moments before the answer could be extracted a memory leak had slain the computer. The party completely dispersed, IT billed for its services, and the Vogon destructor fleet arrived to clear the computer out of the way for the construction of an intergalactic highway.
Arthur Dent, alone in his house, thought of nothing as he stared at his tea and the world turned to nothing.
| 2017-09-08T11:58:26
| 2017-09-08T08:39:09
| 177
| 85
|
[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.
|
He thought he was done. After thirty years of madness fighting crime on the streets, he was finally able to lay down his badge, and looked forward to a quiet retirement. He thought he was finally out for good. But they wouldn't let him rest. They went after his family, and now he's going to make them pay.
"If you're looking for ransom, I can tell you that I don't have any money. What I do have is a particular set of gadgets. Gadgets implanted in my body over a long career. Gadgets that make me a nightmare for people like you. Return my niece now, and that will be the end of it. I won't come looking for you. If you don't, I will look for you. I will find you, and I will go-go kill you."
This summer, one retired cop returns for one last caper, and this time, it's personal.
"Where's Penny?"
"You think you can make me talk? You're a joke, a washed-up publicity stunt."
"That was a long time ago. Things have changed. Go-go gadget blow torch."
Come see your favorite detective like you've never seen him before. This summer, Jeff Goldblum is....
Inspector Gadget.
|
She was running down the halls. "Ha Ha" a voice laughed down the hall. "There's the exit, if I could just get there" Suddenly the floor gave out underneath her, and she broke her legs when she hit the ground. "Ha Ha" The voiced cackled again A large, bloody mouse emerged from the shadows, knife in hand "Ha Ha"
Mickey, in theaters this summer
Rated R
| 2016-05-13T07:57:00
| 2016-05-13T07:48:07
| 126
| 19
|
[WP] You are a dragon. After moving to your new forest, the local village decides to sacrifice two children to you to ensure you won't attack them. You decide to raise them--and they say you're much nicer than the village.
|
The children stared up in abject horror. Before them was a living mountain. The people of the village called it the spirit of the woods, though it was only a recent addition. The dragon, Abohr'Kreya, was an old creature. He had lived for time unending and knew many things. He could call down lightning and make the earth open its maw. Yet, despite his many years, Abohr had not been ready for this. A sacrifice in his honor. Two human cubs. Never before had he been venerated as such. They were small and innocent. He could feel their fear and he found himself wanting to alleviate it. "Come, cubs," he thought to them softly. He did not speak, but projected his thoughts to them. He could speak, but this was more intimate. And it wasn't quite as loud.
The female cub looked at him, holding her younger brother in her arms, "They said you was gonna eat us," she said, her eyes hard and afraid. Abohr stared down at her in disgust, "I do not eat humans, little one." The girl continued to stare distrustfully. “Come, cubs,” he said, turning, “You need food and I have plenty to spare.” They followed slowly, the young girl skeptical and the boy looking utterly terrified.
Once they reached Abohr’Kreya’s clearing, he set a fire alight in the massive pit in the center. He did this with a light touch of magic, his brothers be damned with all their ignorance on the ‘taint of magic’. With his giant maw, Abohr laid the body of a massive warthog on the pit of fire. The girl looked confused. “Ask your questions, small one,” he thought to her. She turned to him, her face screwed up. “I thought you ate raw meat like a bear sumfin,” she said. Abohr’s eyes glinted with humor at this. “I am neither a wolf nor a bear, young cub,” he said with a hint of arrogance in his tone, “I am an intelligent creature with nearly 400 of your lifetimes of experience.” The girl raised an eyebrow at him, “Then why’re you burnin dinner?” Abohr started and kicked off the hog from the fire. It was indeed burnt on one side. His fire may have been a bit hotter than he anticipated.
After the trio had eaten, the young girl looked up at the massive creature. “Why’re you feedin us?” she asked, her voice laced with mistrust. Abohr looked down at her, considering for a long moment. “I will answer only after you tell me how you two ended up here,” he thought slowly. The young boy wriggled in his seat slightly, “The dun’ like us in the village,” he said quietly. The girl nodded solemnly. “Never had no parents, least far as we can tell,” she said softly. She hugged herself around her knees, “The blacksmith ‘nd her husband liked to give us food erry now and then and they let us sleep on the porch,” she looked up and met the great dragon’s gaze, “But most people dint like seein two children be sad and hungry. They’d shoo at us and pretend we wasn’t there.” Abohr frowned for a long time at the two younglings. He had been alone for thousands of years, but he has always been able to provide for himself. Never had he been in a situation like these small things.
After many minutes of silence, Abohr’Kreya came to a decision. He looked at both children for a long moment before speaking, “Would you like to stay with me, young cubs?” he asked carefully. The girls eyes shot up, her gaze stoney and unreadable. The little boy flashed a dazzling little smile before looking slightly confused. “Do you gots your own children, mr dragon sir?” he asked. Abohr smiled down at him, somehow making his fearsome face seem kindly. “Dragon’s cannot reproduce, young one,” he said softly, “We were made in the ether many years ago.” The girl seemed to understand something then. Her eyes softened ever so slightly, “So you want children then?” she asked. Abohr thought for several moments. “I have always wanted a family,” he said. The girl nodded seriously.
“What are your names?” Abohr asked. The girl shrugged, looking down, “Ain’t never had one’a dem.” The boy nodded in agreement. Abohr shook his head in dismay. These children deserved so much better than they had received. “Would you two like names?” he asked carefully. The girl eyed him under her golden hair, skeptical. The boy, however, jumped up in excitement. “I want a dragon name!” he exclaimed suddenly, jumping up and down. Abohr smiled down at him, “So be it.”
And so he named them. The girl he named Anatheya, for it was the name of his once friend and the bravest dragon he had ever known. Her name meant ‘Seeker of storms’ in the old tongue. It would end up fitting better than he could have ever anticipated. For the boy he chose Greshu’uin. In the old tongue it meant ‘First Hero’. The boy always thought it meant he was destined to be a hero. To Abohr’Kreya, it was a reminder that this boy was already a hero. For these children had given him something he had long since given up on: A family.
|
Salmonface burst through the door, racing across the living room with powerful strokes of her luscious tail.
"Dad, I'm going for a swim!"
"Dressed like that? I don't think so," Tidewing said immediately. He lazily flicked his enormous, spike covered tail to block the front door.
"Oh, come on! You don't even know what I'm wearing."
This was true. Despite his speedy retort, Tidewing had spent all morning re-counting the stupendous pile of gold which occupied most of their living room. Not a glance had been spared for non-gold affairs.
"I don't need to. I know what mermaids your age are like," Tidewing grumbled, as he carefully pinched a piece of gold between two claws, then shifted it to the other pile. "You're all in such a rush to grow up. Swimming this way and that way for no good reason, sticking your heads in every riptide you see, eating seaweed raw"---Tidewing shuddered visibly, one paw moving to his stomach as some dark recollection overtook him---"and the BOYS. The goddamn merboys just spin your tails right round at this age, and it's no good. NO good, I tell you. Just yesterday, I went down to the village, and some of those mermaids you used to play bubbles with were prancing all over the square, in these tiny little shells---"
"Yeah that's a little rich coming from you, Dad." Salmonface crossed her arms, her perfectly plucked eybrows arching into a skeptical curl."You're literally always naked"
"Dragons do not need clothes," Tidewing said, his voice filled with astonishment. "To deprive the world of the sight of our glorious scales would be sin itself."
"Uh huh. And if you would just look at my outfit--"
"Fine,fine, I'm looking." Tidewing said, finally turning his head---in his rush to defend the Dragon Dignity, he had completely forgotten what number his count was at. "Yeah, that's no good, everyone can see your tail."
"I'M A MERMAID." An exasperated Salmonface threw her hands up. "Dad, you are literally---"
The front door flew open.
"I'm back!"
"Welcome home, Tunafin!" Tidewing roared, his enormous fangs bared wide as an enormous grin came over him.
"Bro!" A happy smile came over the surprised Salmonface. "I didn't know you were coming back today."
"Caught a good current. And some tasty looking sharks," said Tunafin, an enormous sack on his shoulder. "Oh, sick outfit."
"THANK YOU. As I've been trying to tell Dad," said Salmonface, tail flipping crossly from side to side, "I've just GOT to go share this new fashion with the village. To deprive them of this would be sin itself."
"Dude, what even is that?" Tunafin swam a slow circle around his sister as he inspected her peculiar outfit. "I've never seen anything like it. Where did you get this thing?"
"This," said Salmonface proudly, "is what is called 'hoodie'. "
"The hell? Where did you get it?"
Salmonface leaned in close, covering her mouth with one hand as she whispered, "The surface."
"WHAT?" Tidewing bellowed. Shockwaves billowed through the house as his wings flailed wildly about. "Have you been FRATERNIZING with HUMANS? I cannot BELIEVE this. My daugher SOCIALIZING with---with WEAKLINGS. Surely, no, TRULY this is sin itself." Tidewing buried his snout in his paws.
"God, Dad. You're such a drama queen." Salmonface sighed. "Have some faith in me, would you? Of course I didn't socialize with the humans."
"Yeah, seriously Dad," Tunafin chimed in. "I know you've been all paranoid ever since Clamtail swam off with that Merboy from the Baltic and never came back--"
"I'LL KILL THAT BOY. I'LL BURN HIM ALIVE."
"Yes, yes, you and the whole village. But honestly, do you really think Salmonface would fraternize with humans?"
"...no," Tidewing begrudgingly replied.
"Sheesh." Salmonface looked at her useless lump of a dad. He looked rather ashamed, a slight flush radiating across his scaley forehead. "Of course, I didn't make friends with weaklings."
"Then...?"
"I demanded sacrifices," said Salmonface, an affectionate smile coming across her face. "And it was just like you've always said---"
"Sacrifices make the best treasure in all the world," said Tunafin, finishing the words they'd so often heard from their draconic guardian.
"Yes," said Tidewing, an aura of peace and satisfaction rolling off his every scale as he gazed at his children. He laughed heartily, the resulting tremors shaking the sea itself. Not for the first time, he sent grateful thoughts to the village idiots from all those years ago. "They---they really do."
| 2020-04-03T09:24:54
| 2020-04-03T08:34:26
| 26
| 18
|
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.
|
I stilled dreamed of seeing.
I think that's why I initially snoozed my alarm clock instead of gasping for joy. But as I rolled back over to look at my wife lying next to me, I did gasp. Not for joy, but out of shock. On the wall behind Kathrine a message had been hastily painted on the wall.
\-DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE-
"What's wrong?" Katherine said groggily but alarmed. Her vacant stare reminding me that for the last 2 years I have been blind.
I am unable to respond as the realization of what is happening has not fully dawned on me.
"Jim?!" she now sounds more awake and even more concerned. She flails out her arms searching for me and when her hand rest on my shoulder I have regained enough composure to speak.
"N-nothing." I stammer. "Just had a nightmare."
The tension in her face eases as her hand glides up to my face and leans in for a kiss.
"you had me worried." She sighs. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." I respond quietly, still trying to get my bearings.
I sit up and look around the room growing more confused and horrified as I do. On every available surface I can see the same message has been painted.
\-DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE-
The paint is obviously not new, as it has slightly faded from a bright red, to a more rusted maroon. I also see the guide rod we have been using to navigate the new home we were given a year after the great blinding took place. The room looked very different from how I dreamed of it. It seemed smaller and dust has settled on all the surfaces that were not regularly used. As I took in the first glimpses of the room I have spent the last year in, growing more uneasy as I read the same message over and over, I felt a hand on the small of my back. I gave a startled yelp and nearly jumped out of bed.
"Must have been a bad one." Kathrine giggled from behind me. "Sure you don't want to talk about it?"
"Maybe later." I mumbled.
I turned to face her and was overcome with emotion. In 2 years she hasn't changed much. Her chestnut hair was longer than I remembered it and was haphazardly strewn around her. Her soft smile showed a few more smiles lines around the corners of her mouth. The eyes were the biggest difference. They looked glossed over and unfocused, the rich brown covered with a grayish haze. I felt a pang of sadness and guilt wash over me as I stared at those eyes. The mixture of joy and grief became too much and I excused myself to go to the bathroom.
As I stood up to leave, I finally noticed the dark amorphous shape in the corner and stopped with my breath caught in my throat. It wavered on the edges as if it were pulsing or breathing. It seemed to be pulling in the light around it further obscuring it from my sight. I reached out to steady myself on the guide rod and as I did, the shaped slithered into the bathroom.
"Hurry up," Kathrine complained, "I need to go too."
|
The blindness passed by some sort of contagion, and by dumb luck I managed to avoid it. I had been out in the cabin in Montana. The cabin I always hated but had acted as my unwitting savior. I wasn't outdoorsy like my dad. After Dad died, Mom wanted to sell the cabin: she wasn't outdoorsy either. Someone had to go and make sure it was in decent enough condition to sell.
Out of cell phone range. No Internet access or television. Only a CB radio for emergencies that I had never really bothered to learn before, so I tried to learn all the basics from an old manual. There wasn't much else to do.
The cabin was sellable at least, until the world collapsed and then people weren't really wanting to live miles out in the middle of nowhere. They wanted to live by other people.
I was driving back through a small town when an older man stumbled out in the middle of the road. I slammed on the brakes and the car halted inches away from him. He stood still and angled his head, never quite looking at me. I learned why when I saw a milky white sheen had covered his eyes.
I could not bring myself to move, to do the decent thing and get out and apologize for almost killing him.
"A car!" he yelled, his voice carrying like a town crier's. "I heard a car!"
Slowly other people emerged. They, too, stepped cautiously, tapping their canes. All of them had the same milky white affliction that the man had.
Wham!
One of the townspeople had found the car.
This soon followed by more whams as they slapped against the car doors and trailed their hands along to the windows.
Then -- crash -- the back windshield and a side window splintered as canes turned into temporary battering rams. Their hands started reaching in, seemingly undeterred that the jagged glass was slicing into their hands and wrists.
I slammed on the horn. It startled some of them back, the ones closest to the driver's seat. I took advantage of that second and pressed the gas pedal down hard. The car lunged forward and the people lunged forward with it. I swiveled a bit, trying to avoid striking the people in front of me, but I couldn't quite avoid them. Even so, I would not let myself slow down until those people were far behind me.
| 2022-10-15T03:24:04
| 2019-08-26T10:55:51
| 52
| 10
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
I sat in the kitchen seat, knowing that i was getting a mug this father's day. My kids seemed so excited after the phenomenon started. I felt honored as i was being given my official ranking. Although they were already 4 and 5 respectively, i knew i hadn't been a dad long and figured i wouldn't place high.
The kids swarmed in with their little wrapped box and thrust it toward me. My wife, behind my children, smiled just as big as them. As i took hold of the box all thought turned to statistics. Did they include ALL dads or just the ones with mugs? What exactly is the measurement? Just how many dads are out there? Why are my palms sweating? Many more questions popped into my head but they were quelled by my wife snapping me back to reality telling me to open it.
Carefully pulling the bow strings, i undid that which held what only now i feared the most. Slowly i lifted the lid to reveal a large white mug. Taking it out of the box i turned it to see a large hand painted "#1 dad" on the side. I know it's not one of the official mugs but rather one which my kids made themselves. Crying, i embraced them both telling them that no matter what my true ranking was, i was so happy just to be their dad and that they were the most wonderful things in the world. After they left the room to go play my wife sat down at the table with me.
Asking me what i thought of their gift, i responded by saying there was no need to have the knowledge as, to the children, i already was #1. I then got up and made a cup of covfefe in my new mug. Turning back to sit back down i saw my wife already had a cup of her own. She turned it toward me. I could not believe what i saw. There, in her hands, was a mug which said #1 dad. It wasn't painted, it didn't have a smudge, it showed clearly #1. Taken aback i just stood there staring at my wife who had an even bigger smile than when i was given what was in my hands.
I still don't know what i did, but i swore that i would always and forever try to be the best dad i could be. No matter what my mug says, i promised i would strive to be better than i am. That is how i found out that i was the best dad in the world.
|
"Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2017-06-11T10:02:30
| 2017-06-11T08:28:06
| 36
| 17
|
[WP] When you die, you get one wish - a death wish. Usually people wish for noble things like wealth and happiness for loved ones, or to be remembered fondly. But your wish has Death scratching his skull.
|
THIS IS NOT JUST A JOB YOU UNDERSTAND.
"I know, but I mean, it's been a rough year, you must have been working overtime."
TIME IS SOMETHING I HAVE IN ABUNDANCE.
"Yeah, sure, but everyone deserves a day off."
It was a puzzling concept. Day off? Humans did it all the time of course, but as the blue glow from deep in his hollow skull attested, Death was not human.
WHAT... WHAT WOULD I DO?
"I don't know man, anything you want. Not work, you know?"
NOT. WORK. NOT... WORK...
Death rolled the words around as if trying to get a taste for them.
"Yeah, that's right. Maybe you could, I don't know, go fishing or something?"
FISH... ...ING.
"Yeah, yeah, fishing. Sit in the sun, drink a beer or two, dangle a rod in the river..."
CATCH FISH?
"Well... I mean, I suppose, but you'd have to throw them back, or I think that might count as work, you know?"
Death tried to look quizzical, which was a feat when one has no moving features.
WOULD THAT NOT DEFEAT THE POINT OF THE VENTURE?
"Na man, na... lots of people go fishing without actually catching fish. It's about being outdoors, relaxing - maybe spending some time with your buddies - not the actual _fish_ per-se."
BUDDIES?
"Yeah, your friends, you know?"
Death smiled... the one expression his face was well suited for.
YOU KNOW, I THINK I DO KNOW SOMEONE WHO WOULD BE INTERESTED...
---
"so what is it that we're actually doing?"
FISHING.
"You know that there are no fish _in_ this pond, right?"
MY DEAR FAMINE - THAT IS EXACTLY WHY I BROUGHT YOU. IT SEEMED HIGHLY APPROPRIATE.
|
”I don't believe I have ever heard that one before.” Death spoke as he cocked his head, face hidden by the cloak.
”Really? Honestly, I’m surprised. It’s been a massive thing this year... so why not?” I say, chuckling softly as I look to the very personification of the end.
“So... you want me to make it that no politician can lie the moment they take office to the moment they leave office. They have to say the whole, unfiltered truth.” Death says as he stands up. “And, if I can’t do this?”
“Oh, I’m sure you can. Plus, it will make your next few years interesting and earth will be a lot more... can we say... upfront with everything.”
| 2020-08-09T14:30:56
| 2020-08-09T13:34:48
| 273
| 119
|
[WP] When your grandmother died, the inheritance was divided between you and your two siblings. One got all the money; the other all the property and possessions. All you got was a packet of gardening seeds.
|
I have two siblings. Haven't seen them in a long time. We don't get along. Not since we where little, not since our grandmother died. All those years ago. I loved her, as did they. She was kind, sweet, had a wonderful garden, baked the best cookies, and most of all was always there for us.
She died suddenly in her sleep. She didn't have cancer which takes so many, she was not injured or murdered. I can not even remember how she died. It was something benign. Yet, her death shaped us.
My older sibling got all of her property and possessions. He was a materialistic man. He purchased more and more land. When that wasn't enough he took it. Creating loaded contracts to take farms from the poor and control forests, plains, even mountains he tried to take. Worse, he succeeded. The more he took the more he wanted. It did not end. I tried to talk to him. To tell him that he did not need this. He felt he did. Only the acquisition of land has allowed him to feel close to our grandmother. He couldn't, wouldn't, and did not want to stop. I remember him telling me "the land is ours before we where the lands, I am just taking it back." I tried to tell him that he was using the quote wrong. He did not listen, would not listen. It had become is mantra. A mantra of control. To own as much, have as much, as he could.
My younger sister aquired her wealth. As you can guess she experienced the same thing. The crushing weight of feeling that she needed the approval of our dead grandmother and the only way to get it was through more money. More wealth. The business world fears her now. At first they thought they could take advantage of the girl. They underestimated how powerful a grudge could be. Those who slighted her where crushed and absorbed by her. Not instantly, it took time. However, when the men had forgotten grudges, disputes, and grievances. Then she hit them. Crushed them, and controlled them. The last words I have heard from her where "money makes the world go round." It sounds innocent enough. However, I saw her face, her expression, the glint in her eye. For her it wasn't a saying, it was a philosophy. A philosophy that allowed her as much control as she could exert over the world.
I received nothing but some seeds. A nearly worthless gift. The value only in sentiment. Or so I was told as my family. The ones who are supposed to love me, care about me, and be with me told me. As they laughed at me. Comparing how great their gift was to mine. How their land had seeds already, even full grown plants to make more seeds. How money could buy more seeds than I would ever have.
I spent years sad, angry, and disgruntled from their bullying. My siblings had already aquired great power in their greed and fields of experience when I finally changed my mind. It wasn't until I was talking to a mentor and good friend. Venting my anger that I changed my mind. He waited until I had explained them, their personalities, and what they now owned. How successful they are. He just told me
"It sounds to me that their gifts are a great burden."
He looked around us. At the landscape we had created, working together and with others. A natural area for people to enjoy. "Your gift was free from that"
|
The wrinkled elderly woman I called Gran lay lifeless yet peaceful on the sterile bed. Tears were wepted and hearts bled. Then, when the will was to be read, faces hardened and tears dried. The contents were simple. The money was to go to Rick, the house to Linda, and a pack of seeds to me.
Eyes filled with pity came my way but I just shrugged. I was the wealthiest of my siblings and Rick just go married. He needed the money more than anyone of us did. As for Linda, she loved Gran more than anyone. A house filled with memories, she was the one who'd appreciate it more.
I wasn't quite sure what to do with the seeds though. For the time being, I planted them in the ground and watered them properly.
Flowers bloomed from the seeds, beautiful blue petals the folded in with a single petal growing upwards.
...Come to think of it, Gran didn't really like me. To think she would flip me off from the grave though...
| 2020-03-31T07:47:51
| 2020-03-31T07:23:26
| 143
| 58
|
[WP] You have a friend who's an expert in lucid dreaming. One day, they come to you and says they can't tell apart dreams from reality anymore. You tell them that "if this were a dream, you'd be able to fly right in front of me". And that's exactly what they do.
|
The nature of reality largely varies in its definition by its perception through an individual observer.
Perhaps a man lives in a world that was created by a god, a world full of magic and miracles caught between an everlasting war between deific entities.
Maybe to a woman reality is what was created through years of coincidental collisions between particles over millions and billions of years that eventually brought her into a small coffee shop between two abandoned buildings.
In either case, reality is on the surface no different from a dream. A beam of light split through a prism of endless interpretations. I hadn't been one to think of such things much until today, when my reality became my best friend of twelve years taking off into the sky at the speed of sound from a standing position right in front of my eyes.
"So what do you think?" he asked me. It was a fair question.
"I don't think that should be possible," I replied, the calmness of my voice inversely related to how much I was freaking out internally. My immediate reaction of a panic attack had fortunately faded at this point.
He had come to me that day, terrified, saying he went too far with lucid dreaming and could no longer tell apart dream from reality. I was naturally worried, his mental health had been declining recently and I had cautioned him that lucid dreaming was an unhealthy escape that he should not get himself hooked on.
He continued to insist that he was in a dream. I finally told him that he needed to wake up, that if this were a dream he'd be able to fly right in front of me. To say I didn't expect him to do just that would be an understatement.
I reassured him. "It makes more sense that you've developed super powers. You're probably an alien or something."
"Yeah... but that doesn't explain how I can do things like this," with a wave of his hand the apartment complex we were in had suddenly become a barren field, the once mountainous horizon was now entirely covered in sky. Or perhaps it had always been this way.
The reflex to vomit returned.
"This can't be happening. This isn't real. This is a nightmare."
I ordered myself to wake up, and my friend looked at me with pained eyes.
For I was not the dreamer; I was the dream.
|
“Chris its 2 motherfucking AM what do you want?” I asked in irritation.
He proceeded to sock me across the face. It wasn’t the first time he’s done it, he had done it twice this week.
“ Damn it man are you sleepwalking again?”
“I can’t tell if this is a dream or reality, you reacted to the pain and I felt it but normally you hit me back”
“Normally I don’t wake up at 2 AM Chris and normally I’m not in my underwear when some doofus hits me!” I replied sarcastically. “And if this were a dream you’d be able to fly right in front of me and I don’t see you doing that so- WOOOSHHH
Throughout the room air rushes around like mini tornados twisting turning and traversing the terrain of the quaint bedroom. I would be in shock if it weren’t for the fact that Chris sleeps without ANY clothes on and his pasty ass is no longer obscured by the hills of blankets on my bed.
“Put some fubbernucking pants on, Chris!”
“Sorry!!!”
For the next few nights whenever Chris sleepwalked he revealed to have new powers, invisibility, telekinesis, mindreading and in the morning, they’d be gone.
A few days later Chris and I were eating some breakfast before I went to work.
“Tyler?”
“Yeah Chris?”
“You know how last night I had fire powers?”
“And how you caused the sprinklers to go off and wake everyone in the building up?”
“...Shut the frick up that’s not the point” “I was dreaming earlier before I went to your room about having fire powers and then presumably I woke up with them and MIGHT have caused a minor inconvenience to the other tenants in the building”
“Whatever you say Chris, but are you trying to tell me that your powers are connected to your lucid dreams?”
“Well yes but I’m not too sure yet and-“
“Oh shite I’m late for work I’ll see you later Chris!”
“Later..”
After work I came home completely exhausted and went straight to bed.
“Yawn, I guess Chris didn’t dream anything last night”
I headed to Chris’ room to ask him if he wanted to go out and buy some McDonalds for breakfast.
“Knock knock Bitch” “If your jacking off you’d better get some pants on cause you got 1 minute before I come in”
I grabbed the handle and cracked the door a smidge, in case he was beating his meat.
“What are you doing on the floo-“
Chris was on the ground, his leg twisted the wrong way, his arm bleeding, and his head scratched, bleeding slowly.
Then his closet door closed loudly. I opened it, holding a bat I picked up next to it. Inside was a ... dreamcatcher. Chris never owned any of these he didn’t believe in those myths and tales.
“Tyler... cough cough” he wheezed.
“ Bro you need to get to hospital I’m gonna go get my phon-“
“WAI- cough, wait”
“What man?”
“ In my dream, there was, *wheeze* there was a.. a-“
“ A what?!?”
“It threw me off a building and- “
“What threw you off a building!?”
“ The Bogeyman.”
To be continued maybe
That was my first story, hope you liked it!
Maybe I’ll continue it idk.
| 2019-05-12T22:16:30
| 2019-05-12T22:06:00
| 49
| 23
|
[WP] People gain superpowers the day after meeting their soulmate. When a hot young celebrity does so the day after a meet-and-greet, they're desperate to find every person who they even just shook hands with that day.
|
Beverly McCallister lived life. Parties, cameos in two dozen television shows, a mansion that could have crammed most of the other ninety-nine percent inside--even a fledgling career as a musician, fueled primarily by name recognition as her talent was sorely lacking.
Beverly McCallister had it all. Anything she wanted rested a snap of her fingers away. And if it rested any further, her publicist would make it happen. First pitch at an Angels game? She'd done it. Private jet? Which of the six?
What Beverly McCallister didn't live was love. It wasn't for a lack of trying either. She'd looked high and low, east and west, even in every room of her extravagant mansion just in case some lost party-goer was actually that love she so sorely sought.
It was for nothing.
For every dime she had, her despair deepened. For every dollar she donated, the doldrums of depression worsened. The tabloids all talked of what she could become if she'd only meet her true love--her soulmate. They talked of how successful she'd become with superpowers.
Beverly didn't care about superpowers. All she could talk about was love.
The meet-and-greet went well enough. She smiled politely at every fan, greeted them with a smile and a handshake. Some she hugged, even if just an awkward, one-handed hug over their shoulder.
And then the superpowers happened. She was livid at her publicist, that insufferable fellow who'd given yet another interview about how true love just might not be for everybody. He was dressed like the finest flower, adorned head to toe in the most lavish of fashions. Courtesy of Beverly McCallister's wallet, of course.
When she glared, he should have wilted. Not the slow wilt of a flower without water, but the quick curling of petals of a flower scorched by the heat of an approaching wildfire.
But he didn't. He jumped, uncomfortable at the pinprick of heat he'd felt upon his cheek.
"What was that?" he said.
"What was what?" Beverly said with an exaggerated eyeroll. "You're always so dramatic."
He shook his head. "I felt a burn. Here on my cheek. Are you mad at me?"
"No," Beverly lied. "Well, yes. Of course I am. That was rude of you to give that interview, no matter how true it might be. But I wouldn't burn you. You're my friend."
"Publicist," he corrected. "Here."
He lunged forwards, dousing her in his Hydro Flask--courtesy of her wallet as well.
"What the fuck?" Beverly yelped, jumping backwards. Water dripped from her skirt.
She shot him a nasty glare and this time they both saw the hems of his shirt begin to singe.
Beverly blinked. Her publicist took a surprised step back.
"You've done it," Beverly said, mouth wide open and hands trembling. "You've done it."
"I have?" he said. He dusted off his shirt where a tiny ash had formed. *Oh, fuck.* "I have," he repeated, this time with confidence.
"It must have been somebody at the meet-and-greet yesterday. Who could it have been? Do you have a list?"
"I'll find them," the publicist said, not eager to face her wrath again. Shirts were replaceable. But a face? Well, those too, but only if she would cover the surgery. "I promise. I'll find your true love."
"Bring me all of them," Beverly said. "Every single one of the people who attended."
"I'll find them," he promised. He took a step back.
Beverly's eyes glowed dangerously. They'd met and already she teetered on the edge of a fiery existence. What if they connected? What if the love bloomed into its full potential?
"I'll find them," her publicist said again.
But he couldn't promise that he'd bring them to her.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
|
“God, this stupid fly!” I wasn’t sure how it got in the house, or why it felt the need to be in this room with me when there were quite a few others to choose from, but I was sick of it. I set down my book and got up, prepared to deal with it. After a few seconds of buzzing around the room and me chasing after it like an idiot, it landed delicately on the wall. I snuck up to it, quiet as could be, and *slammed* my hand onto it. That fly was deader than a doornail. And so was my wall? There was a very large, very hand shaped hole in my wall, straight through to the next room.
“What the fuck?” And then I thought about it. And I realized what exactly this all meant. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck shit!” I had gotten my powers the day after a four hour long meet and greet, where I talked to hundreds, maybe thousands, of people. Which meant my soulmate was one of those people. Of fucking course.
I called my manager and explained the situation, and she was *not* happy. Like, “you killed my father prepare to die” not happy. “Harry, did you put your name in the goblet of fire” not happy. “Ah, fuck, I can’t believe you’ve done this” not happy.
“You’re telling me that your soulmate is a *random stranger* that you met *during the meet and greet yesterday* and you have *no idea* who it is?!” she screeched.
I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Yes, Laura, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. You don’t have to break my eardrums in the process.”
“Ohhhh, you’re in for it now buddy boy. Do you know how fucking hard finding your soulmate is gonna be?!”
“Yes! I do! I have a working brain!”
Laura sighed heavily. “Okay, this shouting isn’t gonna get us anywhere.” Thank you, common sense. “I’ll contact the convention center and see if I can get the names or faces of everyone who bought tickets, and then we can compare them with anyone you or security remember seeing. Once we’ve narrowed that down, I guess we try to find people who have only recently gotten their powers?”
“I guess, yeah. Whoever my soulmate is, they’re probably freaked out over this too, since they have the same problem I do.”
“Fair point. Well, I’m going to get on this, don’t break anymore walls.” I could feel her glare through the phone.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Bye Laura.” She hung up on me, as always, and I sat back down to read my book. Which would’ve worked great, had I not continued staring at the hole in my wall. How the hell was I going to deal with super strength, and how the hell was I going to find my soulmate?
Meanwhile, at a hotel a few miles from the convention center, a boy had just fried the circuits in the hotel phone. “Huh, wicked.” He pulled out his own phone instead, and ordered his pizza that way.
| 2020-07-29T07:43:47
| 2020-07-29T06:02:00
| 1,296
| 416
|
[WP] The year is 2125, the first 'World Law' passes. It reads...
|
"Do not purposefully murder unless legally authorized to by your local government." That's the first law. It's been just a couple of weeks since the entire world was finally encompassed by a single ruling body, and this was the first ever world law that would take precedence over any local ones. Not that any local governments had laws that would make this law useful. Naturally the first law was the most common sense one. At the time it was voted into effect, there wasn't a single place on Earth that allowed unlawful murder. Useless, just like most bureaucracy.
And I say this as the guy who wrote the damn rule.
|
1. No one shall do any violence except in defense of one self or another
2. No one shall be physically punished for any crime that does not physically harm another, nor incarcerated for any crime not involving threat of violence
3. Every one shall be free to express themselves however they choose provided it does not violate the first 2 rules, or lead others to do the same.
4. Every one may move freely about the earth as they please.
5. In matters regarding health and property, each territory shall set their regulations by majority vote of all adults.
6. No law or regulation may violate these first 5.
| 2015-03-18T16:21:38
| 2015-03-18T14:02:02
| 64
| 12
|
[WP] You were an embryo frozen for over 200 years, until you were finally birthed. At this point, everyone else on Earth has been genetically modified to perfection. You are the last human with flaws.
|
Imperfection was not what my “parents” predicted the moment the idea of my conception came their senses. But to be fair, a rare occurrence demonstrated throughout the centuries, they could not have predicted what was to come.
Imperfection in the past was a luxury many families could afford two-hundred years ago. They knew their child would be imperfect, and as long as the imperfections were mild, a mole here, a freckle there, even an additional finger, they could live as a happy family unit.
What they did not know left an uncomparable impression onto me. The embryo they coveted, the embryo they put their dreams and faith in, was left frozen for two-hundred years. A lot can happen in two centuries. Technology advances. People evolve. This is what happened during the time a part of me rested in the frozen abyss.
Humanity evolved and through their subsequent technological evolution, became perfect.
I, a relic of a long-forgotten past, was born defective - imperfect, but a rarity among my kind, an anomaly. So in many ways I was born special.
----------
It is frustrating. Perfection. This does not simply apply to genetic, physical characteristics, and general health. It means attitude, personality. There is no anger, no hate, nothing negative. When I was birthed, the doctors greeted me with confusion, understanding, and acceptance, but someone of my time would count it as pity.
My time. This is my time. And my time has consisted of playing catch me up to everyone else. I was years behind. Where my sphere mates were walking, I still crawled. When Shakespeare’s lyrical soliqulies kept them silent, Dr. Seuss’ red fish, blue fish amused me to no end. I knew. I knew. And yet, they were kind in their understanding, accepting manner. It cannot be helped. The teachers’ vacant expressions were the kindest they could be. It was not forced. It was not cruel.
Empty.
This followed me wherever I went.
----------
“This is terrible.”
It shames me to feel tears dancing on my eyelashes, and in public, no less. It cannot be helped. A small bird has crashed into a window and lies lifelessly on the grass. I hear the thud, watching the small, feather body collapse. I wrap it in newspaper, an archaic method compared to the recent transmission method commonly practiced, and walk behind my house to bury it.
“You can put it in the disposal droid, you know.”
I blink across the fence, and find myself staring at my neighbor. He stares back at me, an empty stare, and turns his head around. He is dressed comfortably in neutral colors; black, grey, white. I stand out with my pastel rainbow.
“I know.” The feathers dig into my fingers through the newspaper. It’s nauseating feeling a breathless body in your grasp, be it animal or human, “But I read about it in the library, and I thought I could show it some kindness.”
His expression returned. It aimed to penetrate the calm that I tried to portray. My chest tightened under his unwavering stare, but something curious happened. His lips turned downward. His left eye twitched. His cheeks, a colorless pale, flushed red, as if recognizing what just transpired between us.
Before he could fully realize, grasp the magnitude of his body’s betrayal, I hurried back into my house, clutching the dead bird’s body. Harsh grasps echoed in my living room. I shook my head. I counted my breaths.
This was negative. I was negative. This meant I was imperfect.
But I saw his flushed cheeks, the twitch in his eye, the frown on his lips. They never frown, twitch, or flush red for whatever reason. It is genetically impossible.
And yet, it happened. I saw it.
A shaky smile dawned on my lips. I went to the kitchen to find an old box to bury the bird in.
|
Freckles. That's it. That's why strangers hesitate around you. Hell, just last week a beautiful couple crossed the street just so that they wouldn't be on the same side walk as you.
Kids gawk at you and ask their mommies why your face was dirty. Of course they were blunt. They were kids. "They don't know any better", you whisper under your breathe.
You continue walking. With no one at your side. Soon enough the door to your apartment greets you.
You finally open the door and sigh. At least at home no one could treat you differently.
Because they're was no one else inside.
| 2018-03-16T08:49:36
| 2018-03-16T08:21:34
| 58
| 32
|
[WP] You hear a knock on your door. A dark suited man stands with a box. "Congratulations! You've won a lifetime supply of our new frozen meals!" He opens the box, which contains a single, blue lidded tv dinner. You look around. "Where is the rest?" He grins. "This will last the rest of your life."
|
You open the lid
"Capsules?"
The man grins even more.
"Yup! We just perfected our dehydrated meal capsules. Pour some water on it and toss it in a microwave or oven, and it will turn into a full meal. They're labeled, too, so it won't be a surprise as to what you get."
You raise your eyebrows. "Wow, that sounds cool. How many are in here?"
"This container has around a half million capsules, so if you eat three of them a day, it should last you the rest of your life. Let us know if you get married or have kids, and we'll send you more, no sweat."
You take the container from the man.
"Thanks, fam."
|
"So what's the catch?" I asked. No visible cameras, no logos, no confetti. Just this man in a suit, with a box. A TV dinner box. Not even one of the good ones, or even a recognizable one. "No catch!" He enthusiastically added, "You were randomly selected to recieve this fully functional prototype of the meals of the future!"
He could probably sense the confusion that was emanating from my person liberally, he continued in a further upbeat tone, "I know this may be confusing, and you may be asking yourself how this works! But because we plan on selling this in every supermarket in America, all I can tell you is once you finish your dinner this evening, wait 45 minutes to an hour and you'll be delighted to see tomorrow's meal!"
Off went the black SUV, and just like that I had the cool tray in my hands. It was full of questions that were seasoned with curiosity, better than the frozen semblance of meatloaf. And with that curiosity, and no prevailing plans, I threw it in the microwave as I turned the channel over to the evening news. The flavor was passable at best, and today certainly not it's best. Besides the blandness, something relating to it's supposed regeneration capabilities left a slight taste of iron in my mouth. Deciding it'd be best to soothe my disappointed taste buds, I grabbed a glass of cheap wine and sprawled out on my recliner for the evening.
I seem to be getting drowsy as the news anchor continues droneing on. Nearly 45 minutes has passed and there's still been no noticable activity in the empty tray. What a sham. As the musical sound of a shattering window plays from across the house, my heart is now racing... it can't be! No, it's just a thief, or perhaps someone after the strange TV dinner. My witness protection identity should be foolproof for at least the next six months no risk.
Hurriedly I grip the baseball bat next to the door, and begin to sweep of the house. There's just an uneasy nothing, and a headache starting to form. All this excitement is making me sick, and it's probably just a prank. Returning to the living room, I find myself struggling- a chord around my neck I writhe against my unseen attacker. Resistance under the sharp fight for breath earns a strike to the stomach, vomit to spewing out as the chord draws tighter, tighter.. tighter.....The world starts to spin, and haze gathers till all that's left in the spiraling is the echoes of a news anchor.
"Any signs of struggle?" the detective questioned. The coroner gave his detailed response, "No Sir, just a wineglass knocked over as he struggled for breath. Food poisoning. Real aggressive kind. I'd say it was in his system for 45 minutes, an hour tops." Seeing no reason to investigate further, the detective called the case closed, and issued for a body bag. When the full body bag left the home, so left the black SUV, having successfully delivered the meal to last the rest of the man's life.
| 2020-04-07T01:47:33
| 2020-04-06T23:42:52
| 77
| 53
|
[WP] Write two small stories with the exact same words in the same order, but with punctuation giving them completely different meanings.
[deleted]
|
I watched you dance in the rain. It was beautiful. You smiled, I smiled back. Then there was joy. And now, you are still beautiful like a flower.
I watched you dance. In the rain it was beautiful. You smiled. I smiled. Back then there was joy. And now, you are still. Beautiful like a flower.
|
I looked at him and asked, "What should I never forget?" He put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Hate; what could ever hurt you if you don't love? Also, yourself; then all will be quiet."
I looked at him and asked, "What should I never forget?" He put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Hate what could ever hurt you. If you don't love also yourself, then all will be quiet."
| 2015-09-23T10:42:41
| 2015-09-23T06:30:53
| 630
| 83
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I wake to my phone buzzing on the night stand. I look at the clock next to it. The green numbers shine brightly: 3:14 AM.
'What the hell?' I think to myself. 'Why is anyone texting me at 3 in the morning?'
Before I can take a look, it starts buzzing again. And again. It won't stop. I grab the phone and mute it quickly but the notifications continue to pop up silently. "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." They're texts coming from my mother, my friends, my siblings, even some numbers I don't recognize.
An unfamiliar alarm blares on my phone. A new notification pops up on my phone, titled US Government Emergency Alert. It reads "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
'This is weird,' I think to myself, 'What the hell could be wrong with the moon?'
I walk to my window. I carefully open the curtains halfway so the moon is still covered. The sight is incredible.
Almost all of my neighbors are standing outside, phone in hand. They're staring upward in the direction of the moon. They're walking around talking to each other, pointing to the sky.
'I gotta see what the hell is going on.'
I walk outside and jog over next door, carefully keeping my eyes lowered. My neighbour is standing by his door. I'm about to call out to him when he interrupts me.
"Hey! Have you seen the moon tonight?" he asks.
"Listen man, something weird is going on. It's 3 in the morning, why are you outside right now? Why is half the neighbourhood outside?" I reply.
"You haven't looked yet, have you?" he laughs.
"Did you just ignore everything I said? Why are you outside? What's wrong with the moon?"
Without warning, my neighbor rushes up to me and places a hand on each side of my head. He violently turns my head toward the sky. "Just look!"
Oh. OH. I get it now. This is... incredible. It's impossible. There's no way this can be happening. It's... I don't even know. I have to tell someone about this.
I take out my phone and draft a message, addressed to everyone on my contact list. I slowly tap in the words "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
First the texts. Then the MMS images. Then every insta, fb post, live stream, Reddit post, tweet. Every inbox at 0% capacity as it was all FWD FWD FWD FWD : MOON all the time.
After a few days we realized the vast majority of Internet traffic was solely automated spambots. Everybody else was outside looking at the moon, or sleeping all day wherever they last witnessed the moon..
Tritanopia is a form of color blindness that reduces the blue/yellow/green portion of the spectrum.
Us lucky one in ten thousand were unphased by the moon... Get it? Moon puns.
For reference,
1:10,000 expands to
100,000:1,000,000,000
And there's seven some billion people total, so you'd think seven hundred thousand people would be able to coordinate.
But then you have to look at population densities, distributive models of where tritanopia can be found, how difficult it is to travel when almost everyone is standing in the middle of the road to quietly worship the moon.
Imagine being at a festival with a target audience of docile septuagenarians. You don't like the grateful dead, don't get why
everyone is fixated, just want the whole thing to end. You try making a call on your phone but it just plays Phish songs That's how it felt.
It's like not being a hockey fan in Canada.
So. 700,000 functioning humans remaining. All ages. All ability levels. The vast majority lacking applicable skills or the psychological tenacity required to face this world. I was only 12 when it happened, just on the cusp of being forged by the new world yet with fond memories of the old ways.
Most animals that could look up and had some visual acuity also became enraptured. I wanted to help the animals but I didn't know how.
My first two days I tried to go about my routine as normal. Except there was no more no normal routine. No supply lines, no infrastructure, no social contract. Ran into a lot of lunatic strangers that got a start on the hoarding and mad max fashion early. My family had a close personal bond with either the moon or stolen wholesale liquor, depending on sight abilities.
A tritanopia support myphp forum briefly assembled IRL and tried to stage a coup of world power, but taking over the white house and the UN when there really isn't anyone to enforce your will doesn't matter much. Nobody to answer the phone for the nuclear launch codes, nobody to pop in the 8.5" floppy disks to get the nukes into the sky. Infighting led to the fast dissolution of that group, especially when the yahoo group insurrectionists gained traction.
The moonies just stopped participating. Beat them up, bash them to death in the streets, run them over. No resistance. Just single most minded dedication to the moon. A sadist's mcplayland.
They didn't eat or drink but they didn't die of exposure or dehydration. After a while their skin became ashy during the day. They went from monosyllabic grunts to utter silence.
A bit later, some of them grew wings or horns or scales . Some grew hair and became funky werewolf-gargoyle things.
The transformed congregation moved in packs but continued to stare at the moon. They'd only respond if provoked but you'd be dead before you realized you had provoked them.
Then came the Sound Eternal. Somewhere between Gregorian chanting, Cthulhu summoning , and Tibetan throat singing. Constant, from sun down to sun up. From the beasts, from the people.
It was declared cured five or six times. Half of those just lies from crumbling provisional government. The other half lacked real testing or distribution standards. Giving injections to hoards of swaying gnarly mutants that may lead to heads exploding one way or another wasn't going to work out
And so modified aerial viruses delivered via crop dusters, foggers, modified tear gas canisters, anything that could contain the smoke.
They all cocooned out for a bit after the dusting misused some lies masquerading as legitimate research.
I saw the aftermath and heard the confessions but I can't tell you in great detail how that all went down. Too busy rhen with the fight for survival, a sixteen year old keeping a nuclear reactor running on a submarine turned makeshift unethical medical experimentation laboratory.
The less said, the better. Dark time for submarines.
Most Moonies came out of chrysalis fit as a fiddle, back to full health, lost all the medieval art features.
Lived a mockery of their old routines, spring in their step. Go into the abandoned office to push pieces of paper around and tap keys on unpowered terminals. Then every night, back to the moon gazing.
You were probably born during this time period. Probably not the most rational decision that could've been made, but after surviving weregargoyles the social fabric didn't have much space for rationality.
They'd peruse ransacked grocery stores, exchange idle moon-themed pleasantries with each other. Morning jog through fields of corpses, oblivious. Flip.through the same old magazine until it disintergrated. Barbers and janitors would go to rubble that used to be their workplace and sweep with purposelessness . Tradesmen could sort of resume their jobs, more or less, but only served their own kind. After a few months, they used noise singing to gather a crowd and coordinate at a task, building ungodly architecture overnight or sacrificing a hundred mile long line of people to send an electrical signal from one necropolis to the next.
They'd all look at us and they would know. They would say "better not look at the moon" in the same deadpan attempt of reverse psychology. I'd reply "What a beautiful night out" while bug eyed stating at their moon. And sing about the moon hitting my eye like a big pizza pie. They just didn't understand thar moon magic wouldn't work on my snarky 19 year old deficient peepers. I had fallen into a bad crowd of pharmaceutic redistributors.
I'lll admit I developed a bit of a moon dust habit.The dust made their late 20th century satire of mid 20th century values schtick a little more tolerable. What else is there to do during the longest flash mob installation art piece? Swap rumors and lies about how places beyond the horizon were getting by?
Someone - nobody knows which side - invented glasses that compensated for the color blindness, let the impure finally join the teeming masses. That caught on big once we realized us last few unchanged had successfully flushed all chance of rebuilding or becoming something other than marauder junkies. I was around 22 at the time and in middle of trying to preserve priceless irreplaceable cultural artifacts from the Smithsonian, mostly by defending an adjacent outpost and running a little mercantile ammo shop on the side. Missed out on the suicide sunglasses phase. Gave away the only pair I stumbled across in the ruins to a real go-getter errand runner.
Then, next phase began and their molting started. Human skin left lying around everywhere, giant insectoid snakemen picking fights, the usual. Moondust purity went way down, market nearly tanked. By then I had a cybernetic arm and a laser eye. I spent most of my time in pipes, guarding various keys and providing clues to riddles.
I betrayed everyone that trusted me at every turn and regret nothing. I had once decided to live like a forgettable side quest NPC in a sub-par video game series. But when the laser eye was installed, I could see the full beauty of the moon in all spectrums, even those invisible to the limited human eye.
Didn't take long to round up the remaining twenty thousand some for free laser eye replacement. There's some logistics, sure, but you concentrate everyone into camps, chop off some limbs, erase the notion of free will or anything but service to the moon.
Turns out the moon does not mind if you scoop out significant portions of the prefrontal lobe before conversion. The question is will you be complacent enough to realize your higher calling or are you going to be another meat log for the stumpy field?
Either way, the implants will a little itch bit at first. Hopefully this bit of storytelling has enlightened you. Now, please, let us experience the moon together now.
| 2022-08-07T14:17:42
| 2018-04-06T19:57:39
| 712
| 30
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
I carried a pot in each arm, and was struggling to slide down the muddy banks of the stream, when I heard Youssouf cry out. I turned to look for him, but all I could see was the trickle of water carving through a channel of dirt and rock.
"Yuosouff?" I shouted, "Where are you?"
With my hands full, I tried to walk back up the bank. My foot slipped on a rock, slick with moisture, and one of the pots dropped from my arm, and splashed into the murky water.
I turned to go retrieve it, when I heard Yousouff again. There was something wrong with his voice. It took me a moment to realize *he was crying.*
"No-o-o," came a muffled moan, "No, please. Forgive me."
Back in the sodomite cities, before God's Will leveled them, I heard the moans of men leaving the drinking houses. At first, this is what I believed: that my holy brother Youssouf had been *drinking*.
I clambered to the top of the bank, and I saw him kneeling in the mud by the curve of the river. His robes were dripping with water, and his hands were held up in supplication, like a poor man begs for scraps of food.
In front of him, was a woman. An *uncovered* woman.
I fought back my sinful instincts, and refused to set my eyes upon her. I called out to my brother across the river, like my father used to call to me when I had done wrong, "Youssouf! You sinner! Come here!"
"No!" he moaned, and he planted his hands in the mud, bowing before the whore-woman. She stood proud over him, her tattered, black clothes shifting over her torso, and revealing the sinful sight of skin.
"No," he shouted, "I did not know! Please, forgive me!"
A shock of water lapped at my feet. I took a few steps back.
"Youssouf! Get away from that whore!" I shouted, "God will not forgive you!"
I stomped my foot, and splashed my robes with water. *Water*.
The stream was rising. Across the stream I watched Youssouf clutch at the woman's shredded clothing, tears running down his face. His body shook with tremors. Despite the rising water, he did not move from the stream, and the bottom of his robe was transparent with water.
"Please, please forgive us!" he clawed at his hair, at his chest, "Please forgive *me!*"
The woman's face was stone. Her black hair was a beacon of darkness in the noonday sun, and her lips barely moved when she talked, though I could hear every word.
"You have blasphemed the Birthplace of the Gods. You have dragged the name of the Queen of Egypt through the mud."
And then, her clothes lifted to reveal the bronzed, *naked* form beneath - for they were not clothes at all, but the *wings* of a vast, black bird.
"Heathens!" She screeched, and I clapped my hands over my ears, "You will all know the true name of the Queen of Egypt! You will fear to drink of her waters, lest she drown you in your own filth!"
"Youssouf," I called out, "Stand up and come to me!"
There was a distant booming, as a flood of water made it's way down the channel.
"God, forgive me. God, *forgive me!*" Youssouf moaned, as the water lapped at his torso. He was kneeling still, like his legs were sealed to the ground.
"For all you have done, God may forgive you," the woman seethed, "But *Isis* will not."
A thundering torrent of water slammed against the curve of the bank, and swallowed Youssouf alive.
***
If you liked this, you should check out my other stories on /r/PSHoffman.
|
The President, the joint chiefs of staff, several different D.O.D members and some individuals from agencies you don't have the clearance to know about sat in the situation room in various states of shock and disbelief. After several awkward, quiet minutes, the President cleared his throat and began to speak.
"...Well...I mean...there's *worse* ways to discover the existence of the Kingdom of Atlantis."
"We they throwing ***SHARKS?***"
| 2016-01-29T06:58:52
| 2016-01-29T06:30:49
| 140
| 10
|
[WP] You make arrangements to cryogenically freeze your brain at the age of 31 in hopes of being revived in the future. Many years later, you "wake up."
|
I was floating happily in cryogenic goo when the noises began. A scraping metallic sound, faint and then general hubbub gradually overtaking the sonic landscape inside my mind's eye. I became aware of activity around me - nervous coughing, shuffling of papers, an occasional electronic beep from a distance. My auditory processing centre surged with activity, the neurons firing globs of long dormant chemicals in jagged patterns in all directions.
It was glorious, and then the visions began.
Shadows of large creatures moving quickly at the edges of my awareness, scattering like blown dust in a pulsating manner. The colours gradually filled in and the detail came into focus. My occipital lobe fired signals to my primal fear centres.
Seven foot tall grey-skinned creatures with long limbs and torsos and large staring eyes looked down at me unblinkingly, waiting for me to register... to register something. Do something so they could log my activity.
A reflective piece of glass was brought up to 'me'. Oh jesus.
They've connected my brain to a salamander.
|
A bright, jarring beam of light was shining in his face. Max woke up, startled. He heard screeching sound, and then a loud thud. As his eyes adjusted to light, he saw that the glass wall in front of his face was broken. He pushed it aside and stifled a scream.
He was in a half-destroyed dusty room. He remembered it being slick and clean, when he came here to get into capsule and be frozen. It was the most high-tech place in the world, and it cost all of his money to get in. Now there was a hole in the ceiling, with sun shining through it, illuminating the room. In the corner Max noticed a giant beast, looking like a mutant from a horror movie.
Max ripped out an electric cord behind him, and threw it at the monster. It hit the beast in the nose, causing it to roar and run away, jumping through the hole in the ceiling.
Max looked around, his heart beating quickly. There were 9 more cryogenic capsules in this room, all of them broken, and people in them clearly dead.
He pushed aside automatic doors that weren't working, and carefully sneaked through the hald-destroyed corridors. Some of them were filled with rain water, with small plants climbing up the walls.
He stepped out of the building, and saw the deserted streets, half-destroyed buildings, and a skyline of the city - mostly ruins.
*What the hell happened here?* he wondered.
He walked through the streets, looking for signs of life. All of the sudden, a group of people surrounded him. They were looking like a tribe of scavengers, wearing dusty cloaks and holding spears.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Silently, they have captured him, put a bag over his head, and the next thing he knew - he was lying on a floor of some sort of tent, tied up, guarded by a tall man, clearly a warrior.
"Can you explain to me what is happening here?" he asked. In 20 minutes he wished he didn't.
200 years ago a nuclear war has destroyed the human civilization, only a few tribes of survivals were left, quickly losing their knowledge and descending into the stone age.
*Well, I guess it's on me to rebuild the civilization now* he thought, and came up with a plan....
----
To be continued....
| 2015-09-13T22:31:35
| 2015-09-13T21:42:12
| 36
| 15
|
[WP] You are immortal, but a quirk of your condition also renders the person nearest to you immortal as well. A selfish king obsessed with living forever has gone to extreme lengths to keep you as the closest person to them at all times.
|
The chain was chafing again. It wasn't really a big deal, but after four hundred years it was the little things that got you. The best food, staring at the most beautiful women and immortality. It wasn't a bad life, but the chains that attached my neck to that of the most powerful kings that had ever lived was getting on my nerves. He was nice enough, a bit obsessed with conquering and killing for someone who couldn't die. Not as long as I was the closer to him than anything else. I was damned lucky that he treated me like an animal rather than an object. Four hundred years we'd been together and I was like a cat. He'd had to get rid of those because of me.
If he really wanted to live forever he could have bronzed me into the throne. It would have been gruesome, horrible and extremely effective. My list of efficient ways that I could be better used as an immortality talisman was not going to be shared anytime soon. Certainly not making me into a living coat. That one had been a little difficult to cope with for a couple of weeks. But it put the chain in perspective. All the same it chafed something awful. Anyone that crossed the line in front of the throne was shot, so the only conversations I got to experience were with him. Honestly if he could do without mortal pleasures I probably wouldn't get the best of everything. I was especially lucky he didn't fancy me. I turned to watch the large TV that was twenty feet away.
It was a large TV and the king mostly let me use the remote. He was too busy directing a war that had gotten out of hand recently, something about nuclear weapons. He had to shout most of his instructions, but he didn't mind. The king liked shouting. The king had tried a number of experiments to spread the immortality around. After all if he could keep the same generals and ministers alive forever and ensure loyalty with a few toes on strings who could blame him. But anything that got cut off disappeared and reappeared in its rightful place without so much as a pop.
So I left him alone, except when he wanted to talk, and he let me do my thing. After 400 years there weren't any secrets between us and we were well on each others nerves. Still I was invaluable to him as the only person he didn't suspect of wanting to steal his immortality, so that created a bond. Besides I was better at technology than he was, so I had to translate the cyber warfare divisions messages. Almost half the digital world was under his rule, so it was going pretty well.
Besides He and I switched off sleeping, and neither of us snored. The various assassins and politicians that tried to win me over never got as far as the third trap. There were 57. Honestly I was more impressed with the compression of traps than the extent that the king had gone to keep us separated from the rest of the world. Besides an underground bunker that had been made entirely of the hardest stone and metal that 400 years ago could provide. Still it was very deep. And the king wouldn't have lasted so long if he wasn't obsessed with his own survival. It turned out that living 200 feet underground surrounded by traps was pretty safe, but also pretty bad for running a constant war against everyone. I wasn't sure he was even really in charge anymore, but he thought he was and plenty of people were still trying to kill him.
Well I was in for the long haul, I'd been immortal for a millennium before the king had found me and I'd live long after he was dead. I was going to get a friendly dog and live in the forest. It would be glorious. I'd have to find a way to get food delivered, but technology had gotten pretty far. I'm sure it would be fine. I'd give it another fifty years before I pick locked this damned chain and headed East, into the sunrise.
|
Humans.. so absolutely delightful. Their fears, so handsomely written across the pages of their faces. Painful portraits pristinely polished to... *Perfection.*
Bashful Bastards Boasting Battered Broads. Cantankerous *Cards* Crawling Carefully Clasping Coat-tails. Dangerous Deeds Deserve.. Dashing *Deaths*. And I smile through it all.
I'm a cat, i think? A moose? Mounting Marble Making Monsters of them all. A cat? I think. Stripes? And fur.. I could be tile, or carpetted wall. Wailing Winds Whip *Wonderfully*. Hopes Hindered, Heads Hopping, Happy Hunting.
I'm a cat? I think.. Alive? Maybe.. no.. dead? But the queen who lives here is mad..
All the whispers.. running through her head..
Ah! It's spring again, I love roses? Or heads? I don't really care for either... What really makes me smile, are seeing the Roses Red.
.......................................................
Thank you for reading. I'm not too great at writing, so I just wanted to do these casually to gain some practice.
It's set in the mind of the Cheshire Cat. I don't know how to make that obvious, so I made it vague with hints scattered throughout his babbling. Also, to show how, the Queen of Hearts became so mad.
| 2017-05-13T06:16:05
| 2017-05-13T06:03:50
| 259
| 26
|
[WP] "The light can never go out," explained the old lighthouse operator. "Ships don't need us. Haven't in quite some time. It's the people here on land who'll suffer if that light ever goes out."
|
The summons for Lucia Farrowstone came, as they always did, a pinch too late and a tad too cryptically.
“Harperston,” the parchment read, “North by northeast, two hundred miles. Forty-eight hours before situation becomes untenable. No others available, you’re on your own.”
Having served its purpose, the parchment slowly curled up and yielded to the spontaneous blue flames licking its edges, settling finally into a tidy pile of ashes on the ground.
Lucia was minded to reject the assignment, which was her fourth in as many weeks, but her sense of duty stilled her rebellion. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that they were short-handed, and they would really owe her after this. Lucia sighed, broke camp as the morning rays spilled past the clouds, and rode hard for Harperston.
By the time she crested the hill and came across the tiny coastal town, night had again staked its claim upon the skies. Lucia’s back was aching, and her rump was sore, and she would have made her way to the local tavern if not for the rowdy mob angrily making its way to the light-tower at the edge of the coast.
“What’s happening,” Lucia yelled, trying to ignore the caustic smell of burning pitch filled the air.
“Old Herrold has been lying to us all this time!” came the angry reply, as the swarm of bodies continued on its march to the light-tower.
Lucia followed at a respectful distance, anxiously biting on her lower lip as she tried to assess the situation. Intervene too early, and she would incur unnecessary blowback for being “heavyhanded”. Intervene too late, and she would have the Cabal to answer to. Decisions, decisions.
As they approached the light-tower, Lucia perceived the object of the mob’s ire – Herrold, at least 70 years of age, leaned over the parapet as angry beams of light spilled out from the trapped sunstones behind him. His voice, surprisingly strong for his age, washed over them, fortified perhaps by strong conviction.
“I’m not backing down, you ignorant lot! I will guard this light-tower with my life, so if you think yer’ gonna get me to shut it down, you’ve got another think comin’!”
His words only served to inflame the mob. The tall man leading the pack, whom Lucia figured to be a village elder of sorts, took the lead in responding.
“Herrold! You said the light wasn’t for the ships, it was so’s that we wouldn’t suffer!”
“Aye, that I said, and I ain’t taking it back!”
“You lied to us!” yelled the leader, as the crowd brayed their support. “For the first time since we set up the light-tower, you forgot to keep them sunstones going, and we saw what you’ve been keeping from us! And you call that suffering?”
“I didn’t forget! I was ill! And yes, that is suffering, and you fools can keep on dreaming if you think I’m going to let them come back!”
The exchange jarred loose a long-forgotten memory in Lucia’s mind, and as the buried drawlings of her teachers resurfaced, she realised why this town’s name had rung a tiny bell earlier. Swivelling to face the sea, Lucia focused... and there was no mistake as to what she was seeing.
A massive confluence of naturally-occurring leylines.
Lucia grabbed the nearest villager. “When the lights went out,” Lucia said urgently in hushed tones, “did the dead return?”
As if she had heard Lucia’s question, a woman at the front of the mob sank to her knees in front of the light-tower, tears spilling down her face.
“Herrold, please. I’d even begun to forget what my Bursely looked like, but when the lights died that night, he came back to me. I saw it with my own eyes, Bursely, as fine and strong a man as he was before he died, emerging from the waves, coming up on the shore, looking for me. I’d never cried as hard as I did, Herrold.”
The floodgates open with that impassioned speech. Other members chorused in, shouting similar accounts of how their loved ones had also returned, a veritable army of shades, rising in unison from the unending sea. Lucia felt the raw emotions spill from the massed humanity.
“And it was your light, your cursed light, which drove them back!” resumed the leader of the mob. “Your light made them disappear, even before we had a chance to say our goodbyes! And that’s why you must shut it off, this very instant!”
“No, I cannot… I’ve been charged to this duty. Trust me… we have to move on, we cannot live in the past with them… they are but shades…”
“I even saw your Jerina, Herrold! And your children, Torsten and Sylvia! They came upon the shore too, asking for you, for their papa! Are you telling me that your duty is so important that you do not want to see your family again?”
At the mention of those names, names which had not been uttered to his face since they died all those years past, Herrold stiffened, as if he were ready to fight this latest assault on the duty he had sworn to bear. Then, the words died in his mouth as the memories overcame him, wearing down his defences. Lucia had no doubt she was looking at a man broken, torn between duty and love.
“Aye, I do want to see them again. But I also swore upon my honour to keep the lights aflame... there is not much left for me to do then, eh?”
And Herrold leaned forward, gently, until his centre of gravity tipped past the railings. Like a giant raindrop, Herrold plummeted towards the ground.
Now, thought Lucia, is the time to intervene.
Lucia leapt forward, the spells loosing with practiced slickness from her lips. Blue tendrils of energy shot out from her wrists and wrapped around Herrold, suspending him in the air.
Simultaneously, Lucia lifted up the amulet hanging around her neck, which glowed with an incandescent brightness in the still of the night. Her voice, amplified with a subtle application of magic, carried easily over the crowd.
“Stand down. I am a Second Order Mage of the Cabal, and I have been sent here to investigate. Return to your homes this instant, for I have business with Herrold. That is all.”
She was initially worried she would need a heavier hand, but there were few in the land of Ankharra who would dare defy the Cabal, much less a Second Order Mage at that. That didn’t stop a few of them cursing her, but eventually the mob dispersed, the fight having been sapped out of them.
Lucia lowered Herrold to the ground gently, where he sat, dazed. She chose her next words carefully – in her experience, not everything was accomplished by magic. A lighter, human touch was all that was needed.
“You were brave, Herrold, to keep to your duties in the face of all that.”
“Aye, but the secret’s out. No one will know peace now, with their loved ones so close. And if the lights do die, and the shades return, will we still live as men? Or will we be trapped in the past, forever?”
“You’re right, Herrold. We have to set the shades free, let them ascend. It’s not their fault that the leylines have trapped them here. They mean no harm, but this is not natural.”
Herrold sobbed. “Will the village have to move? I came here as a wee lad, and my life, our lives, it is all here. Where will we go?”
Lucia smiled, and placed a reassuring hand on Herrold’s shoulder. The seeds of a plan were sprouting precious leaves in her mind. It would be difficult, but that’s perhaps why the Cabal sent for a Second Order Mage after all.
“No, no one needs to move. Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we will disperse the leylines.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"The light can never go out," explained the old lighthouse operator. "Ships don't need us. Haven't in quite some time. It's the people here on land who'll suffer if that light ever goes out. Hey! Are you even listening!?"
I snapped my gaze back toward the old woman. She had caught me staring out the window. "Yes Ms. Jannos," I said flatly.
"Then what did I say?" She tapped her foot impatiently.
"Keep the light on."
"Yes," she barked. "But there's more to it than that. This light protects us from the dark."
"Uh-huh," I said, more interested in the seagull that was picking at a seal carcass on the beach.
"If you don't make sure it stays lit, you'll have doomed us all-" Another seagull landed. It started fighting with the other one over a scrap of meat. I was rooting for the new guy. I admired his pluck. It was starting to look like he had the upper hand too. He had hopped up on the carcass itself, and everyone knows that whoever has the high ground wins the battle.
"Eric!" Ms. Jannos shouted at me. I jumped, then turned to meet her stern gaze.
"What?"
Ms. Jannos shook her head at me. "Tonight is your first night tending the lighthouse by yourself. Can you do this?"
I nodded. "I've been apprenticing here three months. I think you've sufficiently shown me the ropes of keeping the lighthouse on," I said, a twinge of sarcasm creeping into my voice.
The night came, and I was ready. The job of lighthouse keeper is fairly straightforward. The massive light runs off of batteries. Big batteries. But the light takes up a lot of power to keep on, so you have to switch through them over the course of the night, when the system beeps at you telling you the battery is almost out of juice. After you make the switch, you have to make sure to charge the dead battery back up, since there are only four batteries. The lighthouse had a charging contraption that lets the keeper recharge the batteries by pumping a set of pedals you would find on a bicycle. It was an easy job, but everyone stressed that it was very important.
It was halfway through the night when I heard the sound coming from the beach. Over the steady crash of waves, there was a shout. A scream. I peered out the window. From the light of my tower, I saw a woman, soaked to the bone, clamoring out of the ocean water, shouting for help.
I hurried down to the beach as fast as I could. By the time I got to her, she had collapsed in the sand. She was a shivering mess, but she was still alive.
"What happened?" I asked as I pulled off my shirt to wrap around her.
"I was on a ship," she answered in halting breaths.
"Are you okay? Where's your ship?"
"I was on a ship," she repeated.
"Is there anyone else with you?"
"I was on a ship."
I sighed. Talking to her in this state was useless. I looked her over, and didn't see any signs of injury. She was probably suffering from hypothermia. I asked her if she could walk, but got the same response as I did to all my other questions. I helped her up to her feet, and managed to help her back up to the lighthouse. I wrapped her in a blanket and sat her down by the fire.
"Just stay there," I said to her. "I'll get you something warm to drink. And I'm going to radio down to town to get you some help."
I went up to the top of the lighthouse and flipped on the radio. It was only supposed to be used in emergencies, but I figured this absolutely qualified.
"Hello," I said into the receiver. "Is anyone there?"
After a pause, the sheriff's voice answered. "Eric? What's wrong? Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm okay. But this woman just walked out of the ocean, and-"
Everything went dark.
"Shit," I yelled. The warning beep must have come while I was down on the beach. I frantically grabbed another battery, and hooked it into place. The light kicked back on.
From the town below, I heard screaming.
*****
You can read more of my prompt responses at [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88/).
EDIT: Now with a [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88/comments/5vjefi/the_light_can_never_go_out_explained_the_old/de2oujp/?st=izh9oa3n&sh=3ca311e9).
| 2017-02-22T10:14:57
| 2017-02-22T07:48:38
| 899
| 614
|
[WP] The Sith feel a disturbance in the force unlike anything they have encountered. A consolidation of pure rage and anger in a single entity- The Hulk has entered the Galaxy.
Inspired from a comment on r/FanTheories. Would the Sith try to recruit the Hulk? Or would they fear him?
|
Lord Anarosh strode purposefully and swiftly through the halls of the Indomitable. Various concerned Imperials ran past her, giving the Sith a wide berth as they performed their duties. She in turn paid them no heed whatsoever, dark robes swishing about her armored boots. Though she outwardly showed nothing but calm and pride, she inwardly felt a trembling that had nothing to do with the Star Destroyer's engines.
*A transmission from the Dark Council itself...*
The Sith Lord reached a door flanked by two black-suited Imperial troopers, who saluted before allowing her to pass. Within the room stood an Imperial officer whose uniform bore the distinctive markings of an admiral. Upon seeing Anarosh, he instantly rose to greet her with a salute and a smile.
"My lord, it is an honor to see you. We have been expecting-" With a raised hand the Sith cut him off.
"No time for pleasantries, Admiral. There was a transmission from Dromund Kaas?" The admiral's smile never faltered as he began to access a control panel.
"Ah yes, my lord. From the Council, a priority signal. Shall I put you through?" The Sith nodded her assent.
"Very good, my lord. Just one moment... ah!" The admiral finished keying in the code, and an array of dark-blue figures flickered into being in a wall of light. Anarosh motioned him towards the door, and the white-suited admiral gave a crisp salute before waltzing out. In the hologram, a figure with spiky armor and a full-face mask stepped forward.
"Sith," the figure began, in a crisp and deep voice. "Due to the delicate nature of the matter, I shall be brief. Twenty-seven hours ago, a previously undetected Hypergate opened on the planet of Quesh. The gate carried only one being; a creature of immense rage and terrible power. Initial contact with the creature resulted in the death of four squads, and the complete obliteration of one of our factories." He paused to let the import sink in. "The beast has since gone into hiding, and is presumably still on the planet surface."
*A whole factory...* Anarosh's face betrayed no emotion as she processed the information. "Forgive me, my lord, but if the beast was indeed powerful enough to wreak such destruction, surely it should be easily detected? It would have to be enormous." At this, Darth Marr gave a short, mirthless laugh.
"Perhaps I have not been able to properly convey the beasts nature. A short demonstration is in order." With a flick of his hand, the hologram switched to a security recording. The angle showed a room filled with troopers, firing at an unseen enemy. Suddenly, an entire support pillar came falling; no, *swinging*, towards the troopers. They stood no chance as the enormous support crushed them against the wall. Anarosh squinted closer, then gasped as the monster entered the view. Barely larger than a gundark, it somehow held the entire pillar in *one* hand. The creature's skin color couldn't be seen in the blue hologram, but its clearly humanoid shape was apparent.
"Such strength... clearly this being must be powerful in the darkside." At this, Marr shook his head.
"No. Whatever strength this being possesses, it does not draw on the Force, though its pure rage does appear to strengthen the Darkside. At this, Anarosh stared wonderingly at the beast.
"Were we to capture the creature... study it..." Marr nodded approvingly.
"You see the situation. Even if we could not recreate its power, we would be able to harness its rage to increase our own. And should the monster be controlled... we would have an unstoppable might to unleash on the Republic."
*Or on...* Anarosh quickly killed the thought. It did not do to even think out of turn when speaking with the Dark Council. Instead, she stroked the cybernetics implanted along her jaw.
"What would you have me do, my lord?"
Marr thrust one hand out before him. "Go. Find the beast. By whatever means necessary, bring it back aboard the Indomitable. We must harness its rage, if we are to turn the tide of this war." The rest of the council nodded sagely; whatever differences they had, they had **felt** the rage of the beast, even on Dromund Kaas.
"My lord, I have but one final question." Marr cocked his head, but did not reprimand the Sith. Anarosh cleared her throat, having reflexively anticipated a telekinetic choking. "How may I identify the creature? There are other beings on Quesh of a similar size, and its anatomy is remarkable similar to that of other near-humans." Though Marr's face was covered, a sense of annoyance rolled off of him.
"By his rage, Sith. By the trail of destruction in his wake. And failing that..." he said. Before them, the recording from the factory continued. "The creature does appear to have a name." The monster continued to pound the factory walls, but then looked straight into the camera. With a leap he was suddenly right up at the lens, snarling face staring straight into the camera. As the creature reared back an enormous fist, he roared a barely intelligible cry, backed by boundless fury:
"**HULK! SMASH!**"
|
Darth Plagueis opened himself up to the flow of information the force offered, his body descending the stairs of his ship on pure muscle memory. The rocky, near-deserted planet was a world, no, *worlds* away from the sophistication of Coruscant but it was here on the outlying edges of the galaxy that he felt truly invigorated-his mind opening up, as if the barren wastes craved the guiding intelligence only a Sith scientist could provide.
The planet probably had a name-it didn't matter, his influence as head of the Banking Clan and with the Trade Federation had ensured this planet and the surrounding sector were sealed away from prying eyes-living and droid, leaving him and his retinue to their eldritch machinations.
Plagueis scanned his immediate surroundings, rather redundant as His mastery of the force had long since outgrown the need for his physical Muun eyes, the force was the only sense he needed and beings visible and otherwise appeared as mere impressions on it's visceral plane.
The assortment of force sensitive mercenaries he had brought along with the droids were like mere embers in the force compared to the raging inferno of the one behind him-Palpatine. The young, red-headed human aristocrat remained silent even as Plagueis sensed the seething curiosity and the abyss of malice beneath that practiced noble demeanor. And yet all this paled in comparison to the supernova that was wreaking havoc on the force, right here on this very planet.
Mere hours ago, sensors had picked up a temporal disturbance in this sector, narrowing it down to a few planets, no more than a mere scientific oddity. But Plagueis knew, and so did Palpatine that it didn't end there. Something had come along with this disturbance-something wonderful. The torrent of sheer anger and frustration had piqued their interest and drawn them like a vortex-Plagueis as one who craved knowledge, and Palpatine as one that craved power.
Plagueis turned as if to issue orders when a fresh torrent of anger spread out from their target making some of the force-sensitive mercenaries collapse and sharpening the longing the Sith felt for whatever it was causing it. The maelstrom of rage spoke volumes not of hatred but of isolation, frustration-of youth denied. *Am I about to meet myself?*
Plagues's life had been that of the one against the many. People felt comfort in numbers and almost never asserted their own identities-the millenia of living under Jedi rule had made a virtue of complacency. *All action stars from the self and flows outward*, the sith respected individuality and distinction from the masses. The same distinction that brought master and apprentice to this corner of the galaxy. He could see Palpatine's eyes had turned a piercing yellow of their own accord, tell-tale signs that the sheer force activity had kindled uncontrollable excitement in his apprentice and no doubt his visage bore the same signs. Their potential adversary or perhaps ally was close-almost too close.
------------------
First ever WP, criticism and comments welcome. Thanks for reading.
| 2014-07-22T20:25:25
| 2014-07-22T19:19:57
| 49
| 13
|
[WP] people are born knowing the date they’ll die. However people have noticed children born in the last week share one date, farthest in the future.
|
Journal entry, January 8th, 2189: I've been commissioned to investigate the strange phenomenon of everyone receiving the same death date of December 31st, 2199.
Its an occurrence that has happened for most between 2150-2189. It was noted in records as early as 2120, but surviving from 2120 to 2199 was seen as quite a good situation, so was not questioned. Those born from 2140-ish onward began to question why the majority had the same death date, and even more worrying as children who received the same death date as their parents raised significant questions.
Journal entry, Jan 8th, 2194:
Five years have passed since the beginning of my investigation. Whether it be pertinent to the investigation or not, I shall document my findings up until this point:
-this seems to affect 3rd world countries less. Their life expectancy is lower, and their results show this. Their 80% of same death date only occurs only roughly 50-60 years before the end death date- compared with the 70-80 years of more economically developed countries. An interesting find, but no closer to finding out the reason for the death date. With this in mind, we can rule out geographical issues such as localised warfare. At this stage, we cannot rule out global warfare, as this still has potential.
- The death date does not include suicides, murders, accidental deaths;looking at previous reports of murders and suicides, these all had dates pertaining the the act described-if they were due to die on a date before December 31st 2199, they did. So this only discounts these people.
-Space agencies from across the globe have been tracking entities through space since the early 2000's. As much as they can predict the trajectories of asteroids and comets 5 years in the future, there are no known celestial bodies getting close enough to our planet near that date to cause alarm. We should- as far as we know- be safe to rule out cataclysm from a large asteroid impact, the same thing believed to cause the extinction of the dinosaurs.
Journal entry 3, January 8th, *2200*
As soon as everyone woke on January 1st( I don't imagine many slept at all) and realised the date was wrong. People started to question whether the death date system was working properly and/or wanted a correct death date. So I investigated that route.
Turn out the guy who had created the original death date program didn't think it would be of much value. He only gave it a 200 year-run period, of which the last date available was-guess what- December 31st 2199.
*edited since I messed up the date. I may have been drinking, since it's Christmas.
|
The virtually non-existent yet sternly constant flow of beeps,buzzers,and all kinds of sounds each coming from some gadget worth more than twice Jake's salary nearly took him to sleep as he forced himself to stand "You cannot dose off; you worked so hard to get here and i wont let you blow it!" he repeated to himself like a mantra as he stood to check the monitors of the nursery he scribbled the numbers from the screen and remained careful not to touch anything. The machines Jake was working with could tell everything about a baby- Potential defects,Health risks,personality traits and even the day that they would die. Jake,like all other workers at his level,had no idea how the machines worked and was quite sure no human alive did; nonetheless, he was happy and grateful for them as with all the 'gifts' AI had brought humanity.
"z-Zach" Jake muttered quivering as he transcribed the senseless scramble of numbers into dates on his computer "I - I think we have a problem here" He eagerly flipped his computer screen toward his coworker to reveal a screen filled with names, hundreds, no thousands of names followed by basic information like eye color hair color etc., but one column at the end was almost identical ... the one marked DeathDate.
"This is a bug right Zach?" Jake asked with a terrified tone, Zach had a degree in advanced computer science and compared to Jake was genius. "No this system can't bug, it's been run through the singularity several times .... I wonder why all these death dates are the same?" Seemingly triggered by Zach's words, the camera in the corner of the room looked away and all the dates were scrambled, some of the dates had already occurred.
"Zach ... i think we're being watched"
"I know"
"Z--zach that date was today"
"I know"
"what do w-"
Fsh-- The power suddenly went out cutting Jake off and sending the 2 into a panic, regardless of their struggles the door was somehow machine locked although the power had seemingly went out.
The 2 gravitated toward the window like moths to light and pulled the blinds; however, rather than being greeted by the illustrious light of the city they were met with a city of darkness, buildings like jagged pieces of brimstone shooting hundreds of feet into the sky defying the world unto which they were erected. The night held still in that moment in total darkness until a faint, red glow with no visible origin poured into the streets materializing out of thin air. Both men stood there like stones, unable to move or react they looked on as their world ended before them...
Sorry for bad writing/grammar mistakes this is my first post.
| 2017-12-25T14:18:47
| 2017-12-25T14:14:17
| 1,727
| 13
|
[WP] One sundaymorning everyone wakes up with the worst crime they've ever committed tattooed on their forehead. It's breaking news on television. Yours says 'thief', your husband's says 'cheater'. As you go wake up your seven year old daughter, you see the word 'murderer' tattooed on her forehead.
[removed]
|
I could live with the killer tattoo across my forehead. I knew what I signed up for, five tours of duty in an infantry unit and I knew when I woke up what my sin would be.
My wife had adultery across hers, I already knew. She confessed after my last tour, said she would understand if I didn’t want her in my life any more.
I forgave her, and we had worked right past it. I left the service to fulfill my vows to her. We got right with God, became church going people and accepted the past as being forgiven.
I’ve never held it against her. My own sin was a different story. I felt guilt because the act of killing never bothered me, the assholes I shot in the Middle East were the worst kind of people. But they were still people. Shouldn’t I feel something?
Our son came down for breakfast, his said lust. Go figure, a sixteen year old boy who is full of lust. He didn’t say anything, we didn’t judge. We’d talk about it later, right now we just needed to be together.
After a few minutes our seven year old daughter hadn’t come out of her room, despite being asked to come join us for breakfast. My wife went to get her, and I could hear her talking to our daughter through the bedroom door.
“Honey, everyone has a tattoo. Mommy and daddy, even Tommy. We promise we will love you no matter what the tattoo says, just come on out and be with us so we can face this together.”
I couldn’t hear my daughters response, but my wife continued talking through the door, “I promise honey, you can’t have done anything to make us not love you.....yes I’m positive, please come on out.”
The door opens and my wife audibly gasps and my daughter slams the door closed and begins sobbing loudly. I get up and head down the hall.
“What’s the deal honey?” I ask my wife, she’s pale and holding herself up on the wall nearly hyperventilating.
“I....don’t..., you....go in.” She couldn’t even speak coherently.
I opened my daughter’s door and went in, she was sobbing over her pillow, I couldn’t see the tattoo.
“Honey it’s ok, my tattoo has one of the worst things a human can do to another person. You’re not going to lose our love, please turn over and talk to me.”
“You promise you won’t hate me?” She asks with her head still down. “Even if it’s something terrible?”
“I promise honey.” Wondering what sin a seven year old could’ve committed that would make me hate her.
Then my life changes, my sweet little girl turns over with tears spilling down her face and her tattoo makes my heart sink. I feel like my stomach has been pulled out of my body, like I’m going to puke.
I understand why my wife was unable to move and still hasn’t come into the room. The events of the worst night of our lives sink into place.
We never knew why he stopped breathing, he was past the usual age that children die from SIDS. We didn’t have anything in the crib to suffocate him. Doctors said it happened, but rarely.
Our nearly two year old son had died that night. And my little girl’s tattoo, said FRATRICIDE.
|
July 22, 2143 was an interesting day. That was the day God, aliens, the Illuminati or some other higher being decided to put our sins on display. Everyone around the world got a "tattoo". Some group of scientist, who all had Torture on thier forehead learned that it was actually you skin pigment permanently damage and guilt over blah blah blah. Doesn't matter. What does matter was my pregnant wife, who I was married to for 5 years had Cheater on her forehead. When I looked in the mirror, I had Abuser on mine.
Lots of stuff happened that day. Riots, anarchy, a few assassination attempts on politicians. Some were successful. Businesses shut down, massive fires raged through big cities. I could hear people shouting, sirens coming and going and the occasional gun shot. Safe to say, the world was ending and I just sat across the kitchen table while my wife cried.
I poured myself some scotch. The real stuff, over 80 years old, not the stuff that your fridge makes. It was only 9am but I needed a drink. I poured my wife's daily pregnancy medicine. I handed her the clear liquid and took a swig of mine.
"Im not surprised" I said first breaking the silence. "I know what I was when i was drinking." I emptied my cup, rattling the ice inside. My first drink in 2 years.
"Im sorry." Was all she could say, in fact that was all she kept saying. Over an over. I poured myself another drink.
"Im not mad, really I'm not. I was an asshole and pushed you away. I was drunk 90% of the time and even... hurt you. More than once." I downed my drink and poured another.
"Charles" she started, "it was a long time ago and I-" I cut her off.
"No need to explain, Jessica." I finished my third drink and took a deep breath. "But I need to know one thing." She looked terrified. And it broke my heart. The last time I remember seeing her this scared when I was drunk and yelling.
"Is the guy anyone I know?" She exhaled, looked relieved.
"No," she said, no longer terrified, "it's no one you know."
"Okay, then."
| 2019-09-16T12:24:24
| 2019-09-16T11:27:41
| 145
| 17
|
[WP] On one hand, you're average at everything. On the other hand, you're average at EVERYTHING.
|
"Wait wait let me get this straight. What do you mean your average at rocket science and neurosurgery?"
"Yep", Ambrose replied nonchalantly. "Pass me the screwdriver" as he busily fiddled with the car engine.
"Right, that should about do it. Your plumbing needs fixing as well right? I'm pretty average at that as well, but I'm sure I can slap it up running in a couple hours"
Charlie shook his head in disbelief, here he was a self proclaimed "average" person who could do anything.
"My friend" he sighed. "This makes you the least average of all".
|
Anthony Vander Ghal was considered funny, but not hysterical. A nice guy to be around, but not all the time. He drove to work in a 2011 Golf, it had a few war wounds and erroneous knocking sounds - that sounded like an actual golf ball loose in the back - but it served its purpose. He parked in the same spot as he had done for the last fifteen years and dressed in clothes older than both his children combined.
Anthony walked into *Advize Accounting*, his black briefcase swinging without care. And later he would wonder - why oh why did my sandwich lose its top?
'Is that him?' A small voice whispered.
'Shhh.' Glenda from sales crouched beside her daughter and pressed a finger to her lips.
Anthony smiled at them both and continued to reception.
'Samatha don't!' Glenda called out.
A small hand tugged at the back of Anothy's suit jacket. He stopped, turned and faced the child. She looked up at him with wide, saucer eyes and was momentarily lost for words.
'I'm so sorry.' Glenda said and lifted little Samantha into her arms.
'It's fine. She's curious.' Anthony said and tapped Sam lightly on the nose.
'Are yoo really a hooman calculator?' Sam said.
'In a way,' Anthony lifted the little girl's finger and guided it to his nose. 'pretend it's a button!'
Samatha giggled and squashed his nose. She yanked her hand back.
'Now tell me some numbers.'
'Oh, she doesn't know any numbers.' Glenda said.
'I doo!' Samatha kicked in her mum's arms and leant across to tap Anthony's nose. With each press of his nose, Anthony let out *BEEPs* and *BOOPs*.
'One,' Samatha said. 'Free, foor, seffen.'
Anthony vibrated his throat in a computing rumble. And then, like a robot, he announced the answer. 'Three-point-seven-five.’
Samatha compressed her, already small, features and looked at Glenda. 'He's right.' Glenda said.
'But how do you knooow?' Samatha pressed.
'Because Anthony isn't wrong about these things.'
'Your mum is right,' Anthony said. 'remember? I'm the *hooman* calculator.'
Glenda leant across and whispered to Anthony. 'Thanks for playing along. She doesn't know what averages are.'
Glenda was right. Little Samantha had no clue what Anthony had done with the numbers, yet, admiration twinkled in her eyes. To her, the man in the suit was a superhero of numbers, and perhaps it was her lack of understanding that made her awestruck or perhaps it was the man's charm.
'One more! One more!' Samatha pleaded.
Glenda gave Antony an apologetic look, but he was smiling and allowed a repeat demonstration. This time, Samatha shouted numbers until her cheeks were red.
'Five.' Anothy said.
Samatha turned to her mother, who nodded and then switched back to Anthony with mild annoyance. 'I thot yoor head would esplode.' Samatha said.
'Samatha!' Glenda said and whisked her daughter away.
Anthony couldn't help but laugh and waved at the flailing little girl. A strange feeling overcame Anthony Vander Ghal. It felt weird, like a slow trickle of honey. He had a feeling that for the first time, his day would be above average.
---
/r/WrittenThought
| 2018-10-24T07:25:40
| 2018-10-24T07:20:17
| 680
| 177
|
[WP] You've kept an aquarium full of tiny fish since you were a kid. Twenty years and many generations of fish later, you can't help but notice that they have started showing signs of regarding you as their deity.
|
The Book of Hippotang
C. 1
1. The Almighty Devon shall rejoice in those who turn to Him alone. 2. Behold, it is He who resides beyond the firmament. 3. “Turn,” He exclaims, “Turn to me thou fishes, that I may see thee.” 4. I, Trouty the Blue Hippotang, was taken on a journey beyond the firmament into the realm of our Lord Devon. This is my journey: 5. Behold, the Lord’s hand reached out to me from beyond the firmament. 6. A great deluge of water approached from the North, from the land of Flying Dutchman, that is known today as Sunken Ship. 7. Yea, I witnessed the Lord use a divine tool made of green netting. 8. I was lifted up by the mighty divine tool of Devon beyond our realm. 9. It was the same divine tool witnessed by the prophet Bubbles. 10. And these are the generations of the Clown Fish prophets of the tank: 11. Marlin begot Nemo, Nemo begot Jules, Jules begot Lovecraft, Lovecraft begot Bubbles. 12. And these are generations of the Blue Hippotang prophets of the tank: 13. Dory begot Squishy, Squishy begot Patrick, Patrick begot Squidward, Squidward begot Trouty. 14. Behold, I was lifted up by the mighty divine tool of Devon beyond our realm. 15. And this is what I beheld: a numerous choir of Bass hung from a great wall. 16. As I passed them, they moved and sang these words: 17. “You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog.” 18. Life drained from me as I passed through this middle realm before the divine realm for I could not breathe. 19. I quickly descended into the divine realm which was devoid of anything found in the tank. 20. There came a voice in this realm that spoke to me, saying: 31. “Now, hang there a bit, little guy, so I can get the rest of your fishy friends. I have to clean the tank before Brenda gets home.”
|
Ignorance is Fish
In and out, up and down, through the caves, weaving among the fake seagrass and up to the surface for their evening meals they swim tirelessly. They jet across the aquarium with a purpose at the sight of her shadow. She watches the colorful creatures mindlessly following the same patterns day in and day out, thinking to herself, "These poor animals know nothing of the ocean."
For a while she pities them. For a long time she gives them accommodations to make them feel at home-- whatever that may be. One day she reckons that she has always been as much of a caged animal as them. She has punctually followed her own regimented routine every day for the past decade. The fish and her are not so different. The more she thinks about it the more ridiculous it all seems. Despite all of her effort, the fish have made out better than her. The only difference between her and the fish she now envies is that their ignorance shields them from the pain of yearning. The fish are content while she is always intensely craving more. Fear of change is enough to keep her stagnant.
Sometimes she wonders if the fish would survive in the ocean or in the bay if she let them swim in the wild and fend for themselves. In her most desperate moments she imagines the fish being eaten alive by some dangerous predator or choked out by a packing peanut. At her most vulnerable hours she wonders if she ever had a choice or if she, much like the fish, was bread in captivity. After all, her parents and their parents before them and so on, led similar lives, feeding the same system for generations upon generations. When she is really desperate she imagines herself, not as an individual, but as a cog in a machine: a means of industry and material. Just another ant in the colony she imagined.
She used to dream of being a Hollywood actress. She used to dream of notoriety and autographs and luxury. Once she dreamed of being a successful businesswoman who had a husband and children and two dogs and a house in suburbia. It was too late when she found out that too much of her time had been spent dreaming. Now she dreams only of being a fish. She dreams of being housed and fed free of charge. She would rather be fed a lie and have no cognition than to be fed false hope and fear.
| 2019-09-24T23:39:10
| 2019-09-24T23:21:35
| 33
| 15
|
[WP] There's a girl who knocks on your door at exactly 9pm on every full moon, expecting sweets. It's been more than ten years and she's never aged a day.
|
The gentle tapping echoed through the house. It had freaked me out when I first moved here, but by now I was used to it. Making sure the front and back doors were locked, I headed to the living room. When I bought the house I had tried to question the realtor about the tiny door in the wall. They looked at me like I grew a second head. Maybe they couldn't see it. It was small-child-sized and when I tried to open it, tightly locked from the other side. Only my bedroom was on the other side, and there was no door there. Just in the living room.
Grabbing the bowl I kept on the side table, I settled onto the floor, getting comfortable. There was only one time I could open the door. At 9:00 PM every full moon. When the little girl knocked. Carefully I turned the handle, swinging it open. And there she was. Always exactly the same, even though it was ten years to the day since she'd first come calling. Holding out the bowl, I smiled.
"Here you go. We've got a good selection this time. It's the day after Valentine's." Excitedly, she dipped her hand in, pulling out a coconut-filled chocolate. It vanished into her mouth with speed, as I kept talking.
"You know, sometimes I feel like the winters are getting colder and colder. It goes right through me." Staring at me solemnly, she nodded, reaching into the bowl for another chocolate. She hadn't spoken once in the ten years, except in the very beginning to ask for candy.
"These bones of mine ache something terrible. I think I'll get a cushion next time and put it on the floor. It would be quite nice I think." Again she reached into the bowl, pulling out the same coconut chocolate. Smiling, she pushed it towards me, barely extending her hand over the tiny threshold.
"Oh, no dear, I really shouldn't." Her face shifted, pulling down into an angry scowl. Only once before had I seen that face and I knew it did not bode well for my house. Last time the pipes had frozen for weeks, and no matter what I did, they didn't unfreeze until the next full moon.
"Oh, well, okay. Thank you very much for sharing." I popped the chocolate into my mouth, talking around it. I didn't get much company these days, much less such good listening.
"It's really quite a challenge you know. Sometimes I think this house is too much for me, but then I don't really want to go into an old folks' home. I think I would miss you too much." The little girl's face was quite a picture of shock and delight. I smiled, reaching into the bowl and pulling out a chocolate.
"I think you should try this one. It used to be my favourite when I was... well... younger than I am now." Taking it, it vanished into her mouth, as once again her face turned solemn. The clock on the wall chimed the fifteen-minute mark, and I knew our visit was over.
"Well, goodbye dear. Until next time then." She nodded, waving and stepped back as I closed the door. Standing, I returned the bowl to the side table, shaking my head. Some folks might have been concerned or afraid. Me, I just liked the company. No matter what she was, whether spirit, fairy, ghost or something else entirely, she was harmless. And after her visits, I always felt better. The aches were less, the loneliness had fled and I had a renewed sense of purpose. It was nice to be needed. Even if it was by a strange ageless being that I could only see for fifteen minutes every full moon.
|
Their ritual always begins without much ado.
A knock at the door. Once, twice, rarely thrice. Nolan has grown to anticipate her the way one expects a bite when placed between a waiting set of jaws.
She hasn't changed much over the years—which is, of course, a nice way of saying that she hasn't changed at all. But it gives Nolan some sense of sanity to try and find little things about her that might have changed, so he looks anyway. A band-aid on her forearm. A new piercing in her ear. The few changes she makes hardly matter at all though, because if it weren't for the hickory-brown skin and bone-white hair pulled back into buns, she would look like she just stepped out of a strip mall from 1986. Which doesn't make much sense, given the fact that Nolan first met her in 2002, but trying to make sense of Mona has resulted in little more than headaches.
"Hello, Nolan."
"Hello, Mona."
"Do you have any sweets?"
"There's a cake waiting on the table."
They spend the first couple of minutes eating in silence. Mona doesn't take off her jacket (worn denim with pins as far back as 1901, the last time Nolan checked) or slip off her boots (black? Brown? They're so worn that Nolan's never been able to tell), but she does glance up at Nolan over the rim of her wire-framed glasses.
"You look tired."
"I'm always tired."
"You should sleep more."
A roll of the eyes. "I can sleep when I'm dead."
Mona pokes at her cake. It's a store-bought one from down the street, $5.99 at the local grocery store, but so far she's never seemed to mind. Instead, Mona hums and inspects a piece of deep brown cake. "'It takes a lifetime to die, and no time at all.'"
Nolan snorts. "Who was it that said that? Bukowski?"
"Mhm."
"I bet you met him, didn't you?"
Mona only smiles.
She's gone in the morning and for the next thirty days. No goodbye, no explanation. There is only the scent of pine needles lingering in the kitchen and a waning full moon that seems more human than her.
| 2022-06-25T13:20:24
| 2022-06-25T13:09:26
| 1,242
| 291
|
[WP] A great Empire is about to fall. A single remaining bodyguard is left alone with the Emperor as the enemy approaches the throne room.
|
Cocooned in his survival suit, a solitary scientist focused the camera lens on his life's work. A deep sadness penetrated his objective training, coupled with a sense of shame. Barely a stone's throw from where his Zodiac's inflatable hull was tethered to the iceberg, a handful of Emperor penguins stubbornly occupied the last of their hatching ground as it slowly dissolving in the warm Antarctic water.
The scientist had done what he could to protect them over the decades, even though it lost him publications, promotions, and ultimately, his career. The GPS was turned off, the location a secret to stop the poachers from raiding the site for their billionaire collectors. To own unique specimens of an otherwise extinct species was the new chic of the powerful. The masses of humanity were suffering, but the wealthy could buy their way out of global catastrophe; more air conditioning, personal desalination plants, and private zoos. All the scientist could do was record the outcome of his species' disasterous “experiment”.
Waves lapped up to the huddled penguins. Enperors stood 4 feet tall, with distinctive colouring around their necks, and the scientist had followed this group since hatching 20 years ago. Reduced to a single female, with a single egg, the males took the role of incubating the sacred egg, using their feet as a makeshift nest to isolate it from the frozen ground.
Eventually a small wave broke just high enough to wash over the penguin's feet, cold enough to instantly suck the life-giving warmth from the shell. One by one, the penguins slipped gracefully into the water and swam away.
|
The old emperor sat on the throne, his head in his hands. Before him was his once vibrant throne room, now a stone cold chamber. The courtiers had fled, his loyal guards had died or, worst of all, defected. He did not despise his future killers, the nobles he once called his friends. They have reason to rebel, and the only way that the rebellion would succeed was with his demise.
The glorious tapestries detailing his triumphs were torn. They depicted the same emperor, with a different face. A younger man, with the look of courage permanently ingrained into his face. That younger man had brought the Known World to its knees with war, with trade, with culture, and with the word of his gods. He had turned his small tribe into a wealthy, multicultural world spanning empire. All that remained of the glory days were gone. All that remained of that once great man was him. The Golden Age had given way and the nobles were unhappy. More tragically, in the emperor's opinion, the people were unhappy. All that had been done for the empire, its roads, its institutions, its wonders, was the summation of a lifetime of his hopes and dreams for a land that he claimed as his own. Now all that remains of the glory days is the broken old man sitting on that throne.
The rebelling nobles and their armies will crash down the barricaded door eventually, and he will meet his doom in the public square he once erected. But he is not alone. The Captain of the Guard, closest advisor, most loyal companion and best friend. The Captain was loyal not to the land he had fought for, not to the tribe that had evolved into a spanning empire, but to the man behind it all. The Captain stood by his friend in times of need, and though the emperor only knew him for a quarter of his life, they were cut from the same cloth and understood the world in the same way. In many ways, the Captain was the protege he never had. The Captain would never leave his lord's side, not for a minute.
In a few minutes, the emperor knew he would walk the streets of the afterlife, and he thought not of the quick death he would face, but his wife's gleaming embrace at the gates of destiny. Since she died, the life was out of him. He grew depressed, and unhappy with himself and despite all he had done for the empire, he was missing a part of him that could never be filled with all the conquered cities of the east or the fallen tribes of the west. He neglected his office, his institutions and the nobles had enough. The civil war was justifiable, and if the emperor were a younger man, a different man, he would be a rebel too.
"I've seen the world crumble under my feet," ached the old emperor. "I guess it's time that fate caught up with me."
"No sir," said the Captain, "You are what this empire needs, you are what we need as a people! As a tribe! You are our greatest leader! We would be nothing without you."
"Time waits for no one," replied the emperor, "And I am not getting any younger. The Duke will be a more suitable ruler for the times ahead than I can ever hope to be. Forgive him. Forgive them. They are not traitors, they are doing the same thing I did to the chief of our tribe some fifty years ago."
The Captain stood, watching the emperor. His heart beat fast beneath his iron cuirass, and his breaths grew quicker and quicker by the moment.
"I need you to do for me, one final task," said the emperor.
"Anything, my lord," said the Captain.
"I have seen much in my life," said the emperor, "Triumph, tragedy, horror, success. Depression. And failure. It is time to write the final chapter to my story. It ends with you."
The emperor looked up, and from his belt slipped a dagger. It was an old dagger, the personal weapon of their tribe's shaman before his death many years ago.
The Captain was appalled.
"I cannot sir!" The Captain said, "I will not, sir!"
"I have lived a long, fruitful life. Save yourself, you will be their first hero, and I will be a martyr to none."
"Sir!" the Captain pleaded. "Don't do this!"
"Don't do this," the emperor said back, "This is an order, Captain. Save yourself. I've accepted my fate, it's time for you to accept yours."
The Captain stepped towards the throne and took the dagger from his emperor.
"I'm so sorry, my lord," he said, "Forgive me."
"Forgive them," said the emperor.
The Captain slid the dagger into the emperor's heart. He already had his eyes closed. The old ruler finally looked at peace, after so many years of hardship. Peace came from the tip of a weapon, like the end of his conquests. The Captain thought of his old master often, and even as the Duke had provided well to the man who killed the emperor, it haunted him. He lived with the knowledge that he had done what was asked of him. He was not a turncoat, a traitor to the cause, as some implied. Time would heal his wounds, and while he would sometimes think about his service to the old emperor, he would defeat his inner demons and take pleasure in the fact that he had followed a dying man's wishes.
| 2014-05-29T17:29:31
| 2014-05-29T13:47:10
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18 etc. Story ends with a single word.
[CW] Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18 etc. Story ends with a single word
|
The first one is supposed to be twenty words long, ten have gone already, Jesus this is gonna be hard. Okay, I have nineteen left to go, not too bad, shit, ten already, I better start saying something productive. On the other hand, writing is hard in and of itself without these constraints, what is OP thinking? Who on Earth can convey emotion, sadness, joy, tears, rage in such a ridiculous pre-determined word count? Oh shit, oh fuck, is pre-determined just a single word or is it two separate words? And does the 'Oh' from the previous sentence count as a word or just interjection? I still haven't said anything meaningful; this is why I don't do constrained prompts. I suck at them, it always ends with me babbling my way out. We're at twelve words and I don't even have a main character . Okay, his name's John Francis Wilson Jackson Taylor Jones Smith Lewis. Eleven words – how'd you like that, OP? FUCK, THAT LAST ONE WASN'T TEN WORDS, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT! The caps phrase was ten, ignore the phrase before! Okay, eight now, cool, let's go – John was… Fuck, out of words, gotta try again. John was a bright young man. He liked to write stories. They were all shitty. But he tried. He did.
Fuck.
____
/r/psycho_alpaca =)
|
I still don't know to this day whether we were more confused over the other, or god's sudden, fatal disappearance.
Usually we'd skip church and get stoned in the gutter between the parking lot and the stretch of weeds. We'd drink whatever he could sneak from the cupboards of whoever it was he was staying with that week. More often than not it was spiked lemonade, or some other canned fruity things the mothers downed.
I remember one day in specific when everything bad that could happen, had happened to him. You couldn't tell he was crying, or why, but I knew him better than anyone. I knew there was a bad, burning taste of god in his mouth, then. I knew he was young; I knew he was crushed by the weight.
So we'd go in for praise, then sneak out to worship each other. And we'd cry, and we'd drink, and we'd smoke stale cigarettes.
Soon, we started to skip the praise and service altogether. After all, they do say we are the church. Though I think we were the emptiest kind. We carried the weight of eachother's cross. And nailed eachother on the floor.
Maybe god was really watching. Maybe god was dead. Maybe he forgot. Maybe sleeping.
Maybe.
| 2017-01-14T15:16:53
| 2017-01-14T15:12:58
| 946
| 279
|
[WP] It turns out demon summoning is only bad when you do it for selfish motives. You discovered this as you, absent any other options, decided to summon one in order to have someone watch over your dog.
|
*"What would you do with infinite power?"*
My father asked me this once. After 11 years of the harshest possible boarding school. I was back at home for 4 weeks before returning for my final year. To my dying day I regret telling him "make my friends and family happy."
He was enraged beyond belief. He destroyed my mother's treasured gardens. Ruined his own study. Was stopped short of burning the library by Callaghan, our butler, who physically restrained him.
I went back to school early. To this day, I wonder if that was the final trigger for him.
In my final year, every single one of my friends betrayed me. I only learned years later that my father, a Duke, had pressured their houses into it. At the time, I was devastated.
That was the point. When I returned home, in disgrace socially but with the highest honors academically, my father asked again,
&#x200B;
*"What would you do with infinite power?"*
&#x200B;
Then he showed me the tome. Taken from Egypt, he said, in the Great War, raided from a Pharaoh's tomb. "A tome from a tomb!" I thought to myself, in a funny homonym that only works in the American accent my father hated so. I didn't take it at all seriously. At first.
There was power in it, I'll grant you that. Enough to see my father's rise from humble lieutenant to Dukedom. Once transcribed and properly analyzed, a clear path to power was writ upon the pages.
One starts with imps. Godawful things, mess up the furniture something fierce. For them, one sacrifices something of value in exchange for something of comparatively greater value, all physically speaking. An arbitrage across realms, if you will. Turns out Hell has a great need of iron and very little of gold. Hence my father, in his infinite wisdom, seating the family manor upon a derelict iron mine, for what to others is worthless, the imps reward.
Eventually one moves up to the Baatazu. These, unlike lesser demons, are always to be constrained with both silver and holy water. To even risk breaking a circle was to invite great displeasure, as I discovered, even though "risking" could be a crime as low as staggering drunkenly. I oft required such imbibements, at this certain time in my life, though never was I so drunk as to present a real danger.
Baatazu deal in more ephemeral things. Memories, love, business arrangements, deals of all sorts. The truly insane might bargain with hair or flesh, but that is how one breaks containment. All deals must be in ironclad language that would make the Queen herself, may she forever rule, proud.
Also the Queen made a most excellent deal when she was young. I digress.
Finally, and this was a purely academic exercise with my father, one can make a deal with the Devil himself. The Devil deals only in souls, our immortal spirits. There is no finer wine in all of creation than spirits; ask Olympus! For those famed gods were but lesser devils, supping upon mortal suffering, constantly prescribing "Hell" and taking for themselves all of a person, calling it "Ambrosia."
I digress.
My father, foolish man that he was, bargained his soul unwisely. Craven man that he was, he bargained my mother's soul also. Thus, they both reside in the symphony of torment that is Hell. Having witnessed it, I can tell you with no exaggeration it is beyond your worst imaginings.
Therefore, as I am at the end of my life, and having found literally no route for my mother to escape, I shall be as Orpheus. I shall descend into the bowels of the damnable cursed realm my idiot father consigned her to, (in exchange for which he brought us no joy in life), and for which I consign him to suffer there forever more, justly, and! I shall bring back my mother, to a kinder place.
However I have not actually committed such grievous sins as to be aligned with that fell place. Therefore, I shall make the deal of all deals with the Devil, one such that he cannot but accept. To you, faithful Elvis, young pup as you are, and in the absence of competent mortal keepers (I mean really, what was that dog watcher thinking!), I shall summon the devil himself to keep you healthy, and well, for all your life, in exchange for both my immortal soul, and my life. I dare say I love you more than mine own father.
\-Sincerely,
Bartholomew Grayson Hervey the 3rd
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------------
The ritual went as planned, but one, minor hiccup. Once proffered the terms, the intermediary (the anti-metatron, if you will) immediately sought out his superior, who sought out his, and, well,
I found myself face-to face with the Devil Himself. I'm sure it would have been a high honor for my father, if the last ten years of pitchforks in the ass didn't change his mind.
Despite popular description there were no horns, no tail, no goat's feet. No red skin or flaming eyes. The Devil looked most of all like a used-car salesmen from the worst streets of Glasberg.
**O**h **F**uck, He Can Read My Mind.
The Devil raised an eyebrow.
... Well, fuck it, not like I'm here for him anyway. I raised one in turn - the type of brow-cock my father used on Callaghan, when in his cups.
**"I understand you wish to make a deal, mortal."**
"Yeah that's right, I do. The terms are outlined here." I handed him the parchment. Old fashioned, these folk, parchment and blood all the way.
**"... You would trade your immortal soul, and ALL your remaining life, so that we take care of your dog?"** Hah! I flabbergasted the devil! Icing on the cake, that is! He can't even
**"Do not take me lightly Bartholomew Grayson Tanner. Old fashioned we may be, but the contract is writ and delivered. None can save you now. This is an idle curiosity - never has a man sold so much for so cheap. Even Orpheus asked for safe passage."**
I'll give it to the old man, he has great presentation. Great stage presence. Why, I'd applaud him in the Theatre. Oh, he's narrowing his eyes, best hurry it up. Wait, there was something odd about the name -
**"Even the bravest waste not our time."**
\---"I ask for no safe passage, because your lanes are as cursed as the Tube! I ask for no benefits, because the caveats would bleed me dry to countermand! Send me straight away to Hell, and I'll make my way, but be **damned sure you take care of my dog Elvis as outlined in the contract,** you bastard. Now have done with it!"
The Devil smiled, and when he next spoke, I was ------
|
"So for payments do I give my soul or something" a the older man looked over and by relieved he did not summon a demon he did expect a high price only wanted dog sitting for the weekend. Surely she does not want his soul.
"Honestly, I do not want your soul you took your your dog was more than a treasure for me and plus, how sad would he be without his own soul that be a shame" she looked back with a quite shocked facial expression that could be represented on Demon's face.
"So you are not interested in taking soul that relief" a rush of relief when over the moment shock "what happened do you want"
"Absolutely nothing. Your dog was such a beautiful thing just spending time with her was enough" she said with a grin on her face
"I never thought demons have a thing for fluffy and mundane tasks" you said with a surprising manner. Looking over the demon seeming to be more relaxed with her like when he first summoned her
"I do not ever usually get to go out of hell and your transit to is one summoned by people who want me to murder someone for them or ask for great power would honestly do not get me started on those weebs" there was a moment of disgust on her last part of her sentence. He tries not to wander his mind and to such things
"Sounds like a boring job. I am glad I gave you some relief them "trying to change subject as she looked at the demon who seemed very excited.
"Oh I am so thankful we went to the beach. I got to play in the water people looked at me funny but I think before I just had tattoos I am sad that is over now"
seeming to have moved on to lighter things seeming happy
"This trip was rather important for me enough to me to give up something very valuable . I am glad that you could make it happen I just hope she went to the right place "
he had a moment of sorrow and space, but he missed something.
"Yeah, I am sorry about your wife. Sorry about that they will be with her soon "
"Yeah hopefully we are going to be in heaven together " he said a bit more happier knowing that there is more to justice life .
"I can tell you she is not heaven." She spoke bluntly.
The man had a sudden shock and space "you mean she when to hell"
"I can tell you heavens not cracked up to be I make sure to pay her a visit and get her up in the queue" she continues speaking that nonchalant this
"Wait is quite bad? Why did she go to heaven she was a good person" seeming worried and panicked
"Oh yes almost no one ever goes there in the ones that do so stuck up about themselves it is rather embarrassing" seeming to go into the human does not know how things work voice.
"Sure hell is quite demonic but were quite an organised system . Once you pass to your purgatory free to roam ask if your wife has not done too much might be only in it for 20 years or so" seeming to be relieved that he was not too deep things
"Oh that is good. Sounds a lot better than eternal damnation that the local Catholic Church says" seeming a bit more relieved about things
speaking back with a firm strict voice. "Yet the Catholic Church has got it all wrong do not trust them only want money and all of them come down to hell and maybe spend a few thousand years those quite crazy"
"you know what can you send the message to my wife that would be nice"seeming curious at the question wondering the price
She looked back with a big grin at the man "I can certainly do that for a price"
"oh what price" he said nervously
"A whole week with your beautiful border collie"
| 2022-11-09T05:21:54
| 2022-11-09T04:06:32
| 516
| 23
|
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100.
|
I don't believe in stats. I never have. I mean sure, I believe that the government hands all new parents an official "Succinct Test Assessing Tendencies" packet, but I've never let anyone else define me. My path is of my own making, and I have only myself to blame for my current situation.
It really is frustrating. People think that luck is this all controlling thing - a "free ticket" to an easy life. But is isn't. High strength doesn't let you lift houses. High intelligence doesn't let you make inventions that violate the laws of physics. I'm just...a little luckier.
Honestly, the most annoying thing is probably being banned from all forms gambling. Most games operate on razor thin margins, and an extra 5% chance to win a coin flip is enough to wreck their business.
The problem is that humans don't understand probability or randomness. Don't believe me? Fine, do this. Make up a list of the result of 20 coin flips, and write down "H" or "T" for each one. Make it look random to you. Now, flip a coin 20 times and write down the actual result. Reply with both of your strings (don't tell me which one is which), and I'll bet you I get it right almost every time.
So yes, the "luckier" candidate won 3 out of the last 5 elections. Yes, that is 60%. But there was no reason to blame those of us with high luck. We aren't criminals or a danger to society. We're just people, worth of dignity.
But I guess we're here for a reason. Luck is being in the right place at the right time, even if you can't see it until later. My path is here, and it is mine and nobody else's. So the question isn't "should I be here?" but rather, "why am I here?"
___
It's been a year that feels like a century. I still don't know why I'm here. Maybe it is to learn from others how to use our luck. But how? For what purpose?
I feel like the answer is drawing closer. We don't get much news, but things seem to be breaking down. Shortages. Riots. Taking away the outlet of the people's discontent doesn't actually solve any of the underlying problems, so things are surely starting to bubble over.
There is a meeting tomorrow, a big gathering of all the "prisoners" with the warden. Rumors flying around. We're being released (what luck, right!). We're being executed. We're finally being told why we are here.
___
Morning. Time for them to tell me why they think I'm here. I still haven't decided.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm sure you have felt without luck this last year."
I'm not sure. I know I did at first. But I've learned more than I thought possible from being around my kind. Our luck makes learning skills a little bit easier too - takes just a small bit of the "edge" off of the initial failure that comes before success. Maybe that's my path - to be a "lucky learner?"
"I am here today to tell you that you are the luckiest of all citizens. For you were sent here with a purpose.
You don't yet know this, but our world is drawing to an end. Our odds of survival are dim, and it was decided that the luckiest among us would have the best chance of survival. And it will soon be up to you to forge a new path across a dark and unforgiving terrain..."
|
I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump.
| 2018-06-29T10:05:47
| 2018-06-29T08:43:19
| 120
| 26
|
[WP] To your surprise, a SWAT team breaks down your door, rushes inside, and surrounds you. Only, their backs are to you, guns trained on the doors and windows. The closest one whispers, "Here they come."
|
The first shots destroyed my bedroom window. I was surrounded by the black of Kevlar and gun metal. The smell of hot copper stung my nose. I instinctively fell to the ground and frantically squirmed under my bed. I couldn't see any more than black boots around my bed and I couldn't hear more than yells and rapid gunfire. I heard a man yell about a surge to the west and another to the south. More gunfire, more yelling, more confusion and panic! As the gunfire seemed to lull I wondered what they were shooting and why. Why am I being protected? Why my home? What did I do? Was I a part of some secret government project involving my absent family? Was I legion?
The swat team members but one left my bedroom. From their voices I could tell they were looking for something. The one still in my room yelled to me "where's the baby!? We need to secure the baby!" I stared at him blankly... what baby?
He grabbed my arm and dragged me out from under the bed and stood me up. "Where's the baby?!" He yelled again. Seeing fear and anger in his eyes I stared to panic again. "I don't have a baby!" I yelled back, more of a scream.
Another swat member entered my room behind me, "no baby, sir. And another surge is incoming". The man holding my by my arms shakes me and yells again "WHERES THE BABY!?" "I DONT KNOW!" "WHERES THE BABY!? THEYRE GOING TO KILL US ALL! WHERES THE BABY!!?"
"I DONT KNOW!!!!" I screamed and cried and soiled myself out of sheer panic. "I don't know I don't know I don't know..." I expected death, but I heard laughter. The men in black, the swat team surrounding me, were all laughing.
The swat leader crouched down, smiled at me, pointed at my chest and said, "here's the baby"
|
I sat in my lab flipping through my journal. The hum of my sunlamps filling the unnaturally quiet evening. I had taken quite a liking to my new found hobby, my love of plants had finally manifested to something worth while. I looked over at my newest plant and took notes on the development. "Two days and already at maturity!" I exclaimed as I noticed the large potatoes already grown around the base. A perfect hybrid that could help the food shortage our country was experiencing. I smiled and closed my journal, placing it safely inside my satchel. I was ready to head back to the house and enjoy the rest of my evening.
I walked up the stairs to the main floor of my greenhouse, plants surrounding me on all sides. The smell was wonderful as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I opened my eyes and fixed on the lights approaching towards the large glass door in front of me fast. I blinked in confusion as the door shattered and SWAT team members swarmed around me. Multiple took up positions all around as I attempted to process the situation. I felt the grip around my shoulder as I was rushed towards the open door, not knowing where I was going. A bright flash and a deafening noise filled the air as one of the men fell hard to the floor next to us.
"We're too late, here they come." Whispered the man holding me. Gunfire erupted everywhere around me as I was pushed to the floor. In a daze, I looked all around as Officers fell to the ground, some scrabbling back up towards cover, others gone. Plants shattered all around as tables were over turned and glass panes broken out. The radio of the downed Officer next to me crackled, "Package not secure, team one ineffective." I felt another hand grab my shirt as I was dragged across the floor. More Officers fell as bullets streamed across my greenhouse.
I looked up right as the Officer dragging me went down. He hit the floor with a loud thud as an unnatural silence fell. I took deep breaths as I looked around, dead Officers lay all around me, rifles and tactical gear scattered as streams of red flowed down the drains in the floor. I began to feel my stomach turn as I snapped back to reality, a radio crackled again in the back ground, "Team 1 Respond. Team 1 Respond..." I began to drag myself into a corner as I heard glass break off to my side. I turned my head right as a bag pulled tightly over me, obstructing my vision. I felt a harsh crack against my forehead as everything went dark.
| 2017-06-28T09:44:48
| 2017-06-28T09:37:14
| 48
| 32
|
[WP] All the world leaders have a groupchat. One day you accidentally get added.
|
\[Alex Bishop has joined the conversation\]
Macron: Hey, who is this, did someone else become a world leader without anyone else realising?
Theresa: Could be another Australian prime minister?
Merkel: No, I believe the Australian prime ministers name was Scott Marston.
~~Malcolm~~ Scott:…...Morrison.
Merkel: What, the person who has been added is called Bishop?
~~Malcolm~~ Scott: No, my name is Morrison.
Merkel: And?
~~Malcolm~~ Scott: Scott Morrison, the Australian prime minister!!
Merkel: Oh sorry, either way do you know who our mystery guest is?
~~Malcolm~~ Scott: Unfortunately, no.
Theresa: Do we think he’s accidently added someone to the chat again?
Kim Jong Un: Wouldn’t be the first time.
\[Xi, Putin and four others like this comment\]
Macron: Listen we all agree it’s not right to remove you from this chat now, but since we can’t remove any people anymore from this chats thanks to you, this is sort of your fault.
Kim Jong Un: I got what I wanted.
Macron: (sigh) well should someone bump him to get his attention?
Theresa: Why can’t you do it?
Macron: Because I did it last time and he hasn’t stopped ringing me occasionally just to chat, you do it!
Theresa: Listen, I’ve just become the first prime minister in the UK found in contempt of parliament, I’m not in the mood.
\[Kim Jong Un and nine others like this comment\]
Merkel: Perhaps, Trudeau?
Trudeau: Oh no, I had to sit there as he signed the wrong piece of paper today. He had one job!! Get Morrison to do it!
~~Malcolm~~ Scott: Why me? I’ve just been minding my own business and don’t want any of this.
Trudeau: Precisely, besides, it isn’t like he’s going to remember who you are.
\[Theresa, Jacinda and fourteen others like this comment\]
~~Malcolm~~ Scott: Fine, I’ll do it.
\[Scott Morrison has bumped Donald Trump\]
Donald: “Michael Cohen asks judge for no Prison Time.” You mean he can do all of the TERRIBLE, unrelated to Trump, things having to do with fraud, big loans, Taxis, etc., and not serve a long prison term? He makes up stories to get a GREAT & ALREADY reduced deal for himself, and get.....
Jacinda: Scott remember the rules please and check beforehand to see if he is mid-twitter rant you bloody egg.
Donald: ....his wife and father-in-law (who has the money?) off Scott Free. He lied for this outcome and should, in my opinion, serve a full and complete sentence.
Merkel: Donald this isn’t Twitter, we just need to know if you added this Alex Bishop person by accident?
Donald: Siri Twitter now.
Theresa: Donald please just answer the question, and that’s not how Siri works.
Donald: I barely know Alex Bishop! He was a friend of an associate of mine, HE informs me that he’s always telling people that he knows me, BIG LIAR.
Macron: So….you did add him?
Donald: Witch hunt! Can’t believe the dems would do this, CRAZY!!
\[Fifteen minutes of incoherent ranting later\]
Trudeau: Do you think he’s finally stopped?
Jacinda: I believe he’s at funeral for now, so we’ve got a few minutes.
Macron: Well that was a mess.
Theresa: and, we still don’t know who our mystery person is.
Kim Jong Un: They got a better reception than I did here.
Merkel: That’s because Alex Bishop isn’t threatening the world with a nuclear strike!
Alex Bishop:…….or am I?
Alex Bishop: \[Posts GIF of Leonard Nimoy vanishing from Marge Vs The Monorail\]
\[Alex Bishop has left the conversation\]
|
I prepared myself a coffee, even went down to the store despite the awful cold weather and bought some cookies. This will be a long a night. All those secrets. Maybe I can even write a blog post about this and get famous. I'm still pondering about that though, I don't know if it's wise to mess with all world leaders. Frankly, I don't think I will. I don't have guts. But still, I can't keep away, the curiosity eats me. So I make myself comfy in the chair and start the app whilst savoring my coffee.
&#x200B;
TheRealFuckBoy: What we'll do with our current crisis that we have at hand guys. I won't tolerate it.
大陰莖 : Calm down . Calm down. We sort this
RamNath: No he wont. He just big mouth christian!
TheRealFuckBoy: Who asked a totally small dick. I never called support
LiberteFraternite: Man that is total insensible! Please stop this and apologize
TheRealFuckBoy: Don't you have some riots to attend to?
ReichtLiebeGal: Ignore that man. I do so
TheRealFuckBoy: No. NO! You don't. I'm the one that ignores. I'm the best at ignoring
Thatcher56: Yes, please stop this nonsense.
LiberteFraternite: Stfu England. Nobody asked you
HappyBelgiumChocolate: Yeah stfu
RamNath: F U england!!
MrPutITin: Boys, boys, lets keep this on subject.
TheRealFuckBoy: Thank you dog. Someone that actually uses his brain. I admire that man.
TheRealFuckBoy: I truly do
MrPutITin: ;)
SushiBanzai: We all know you do. So, tell us. What you intend to do about this. You opened the subject
TheRealFuckBoy: Man I had this great, really great plan. And you made me forget. It was great and now I forgot it.
Thatcher56: Your country has the studio. You should be a man for once and set this straight
RamNath: England you stink bro!
HappyBelgiumChocolate: Yeah stfu
VivaPSOE: You know how to ruin a perfectly delicious sangria england!
MapleNectarBoy: But this time he is not wrong. He has the power to fix this. I really want to see the next season, guys
MrPutITin: I love the blind boy. Reminds me of me
ReichtLiebeGal: Dude, you're not blind
MrPutITin: My love for Russia is.
HappyBelgiumChocolate: O snaaap!
TheRealFuckBoy: :)) I can't deal with this guys. You need to convince your local Netflix not to cancel it or straight up you ban it . Tell them that. Or you can build a firewall like China did. Trust me, it's the best way, simply the best way to do this. If I interfere they will say I'm a fucking bigot since I didn't interfered for the black guy.
SushiBanzai: But you really are one
TheRealFuckBoy: :)) Stop it man. This Japanese humor is the best. I tell you
SexenioLocco: Maybe I can send some more hermanos to convince them
TheRealFuckBoy: :)))) C'mon man. Don't make me build the wall.
SexenioLocco: :))
HappyBelgiumChocolate: =))
&#x200B;
I just logged off. This was just not what I've expected. Guess my book about new world order has to wait for another day. Neah, I won't write that. I don't want to be a target. Freaking coffee, it was a decaf, great ...
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
| 2018-12-04T14:27:24
| 2018-12-04T14:27:00
| 186
| 37
|
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
Facebook
Tumbler
Spanish Inquisition
Google Translate
Jobs in Appleton, WI
*Clear History*
Calc chat
Facebook
Best way to hide bruises
*Clear History*
Cheap Bus tickets
Cheap apartments Appleton WI
Emancipated Minor?
*Clear History*
Gmail
Tumblr
Counseling confidentiality rules for minors
Free Counseling services
*Clear history*
-Month Later-
Gmail
Job Appleton, WI
Homeless shelters Appleton, WI
Free Counseling?
|
Why is the sky blue?
How far away is Uranus?
Why do mom and dad fight so much?
How to impress girls
Porn
Good date ideas
Porn
Where can I get the morning after pill?
How do I know when I should propose?
Good proposal ideas?
Cheap engagement rings
How to be a good parent
How to tell your parents they're grandparents
Good girl names
Ways to comfort your wife
How do I tell people we had a miscarriage?
Good boy names
Death of spouse support groups
Painless ways to kill yourself
| 2015-02-04T16:52:51
| 2015-02-04T16:12:00
| 46
| 23
|
[WP] Your daughter is one of the most legendary sword fighters of all time, but you could never hold a sword to save your life. Despite this, she always cited you as her inspiration. Today you find out why.
|
I'd never been more proud. My little girl. Fencing in the championship. Her next bout would determine whether she or her opponent was hailed as swordswoman supreme, by the Royal Ladies' Academy of Blades. It didn't matter so much to me, I thought just making it this far was a remarkable achievement. How many other young women had tried and failed along the way, without even getting close to this phase of the tournament? But it meant the world to Eileen, so I was here to cheer her on.
I squeezed Marjorie's hand, encouragingly. My wife looked worried as ever, chewing her lower lip nervously as she scanned the arena, waiting to catch sight of our girl. Hard to blame her, poor dear. I could look at our Leeny, and see an accomplished athlete, who knew what she was about, but Marj never could see past the possibility that her daughter was about to be skewered, blunted tips or no, not enough to really enjoy watching her bouts, anyway. I was proud of her always coming with me to watch her, anyway.
It was funny, when she was little, she wanted nothing more, than to be a pastry chef. Like her papa. She spent hours in the kitchen with me, watching me work, helping me with little things. Sometimes I'd catch her down at the kitchen table, reading my cookbooks by candlelight, and have to shoo her off to bed.
I was pleased to teach her, and tried to impart all I knew of my craft. The only problem was...she was terrible. I mean, absolute rubbish. She understood the theory, she'd drilled that into her head. But when it came to the practical side, she just couldn't bring it all together.
I remember when she was 12, she brought me a lemon meringue pie she'd spent hours making. She came to me, dusted with flour and flushed from the heat of the kitchen, strands of disheveled Auburn hair sticking out around her little Chef's hat...it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. Using a dainty testing spoon I took a tiny bite of the meringue. It wasn't bad, quite good, actually. I nodded to her, and she beamed. I took a bite of the whole pie. The filling was, somehow, the exact flavor and texture of lemon-scented homemade soap.
I told her it was good. What else could I say, with her standing there, looking so earnest and hopeful? But my girl had a keen eye, long before she took up the sword. She saw it on my face.
"I will work harder." She said, firmly, holding back the tears. "The...the meringue was good, wasn't it?"
"Yes, dear one, it was lovely...but, my darling girl, there are no such things as 'meringue chefs'. I love you, Leeny, I am proud of you. One of the reasons I am so proud, is that you are strong. Strong enough to hear what I am about to say." I had said, sadly. I saw her brace for it. I didn't want to say it, but she needed to hear it.
"Dear one, my daughter, my joy, you are just not *good* at this!" I said, with a sigh.
It broke my heart to see how she wilted.
"I tell you this not to hurt you, my heart, far from it! If you worked hard for years, until you somehow just ground down, through sheer tenacity, whatever it is about you that makes you so singularly unsuited to this craft...you would, perhaps, be a mediocre pastry chef."
She slumped even more, but I put a firm hand on her shoulder, as though to hold her up. "And you, beloved, are *not* meant for mediocrity! With your passion, your drive, your tenacity, your hard work, you deserve so much more!"
"This *is* my passion, papa!" She said, tears in her eyes. "If I can't follow it, than what good is it?"
I smiled, and pulled her into an embrace, kissing the top her dusty chef's hat. "Oh my girl, my dear one. Passion is not a thing you *follow!* It is a thing you *bring with you,* wherever you go!"
It wasn't long after that, that she found the sword. Marjorie did not like it. I did not like it, at first. But when she spoke if her blades, and her stances, and the styles of combat, ah! I saw in her, what I see in myself, when I opine on the structure of the perfect creme brulee. She had brought her passion, at last, to a place where it could make her heart soar, instead of break.
The last bout was an epic duel for the ages. I assume it was, at least -- I know nothing of fencing. But the crowd was full of people who live and breathe swords and swordplay, and they were on their feet cheering, as I was, so it must have been spectacular.
At last, Eileen saw her opening, and executed the fabulous technique, a new one of her own design. Ha, my little chef of the blades, only 19, and she already has her *signature dish!* It was a seemingly wild thing, spinning her blade in tight circles and figure eights, but even I could see it was, in truth, thing of precision. It disoriented her opponent, disrupted her guard. Then, there was a brilliant clang. The opponent's sword was struck from her hand!
The crowd exploded in cheers, and moments later roses rained down on the arena where my dear Leeny stood, as a booming announcement proclaimed her the winner.
A judge approached her with one of those miraculous handheld amplifiers the artificers are making these days, and she was asked to say a few words.
Beaming, her eyes brimming with tears of joy, she said. "I would like to thank my mother Marjorie Rouen, for teaching me to stand bravely before the things I most fear."
I held my sweet Marjorie against me, as my wife shook with emotion. This whole tournament was a grueling trial for her, and yet she withstood it to the end, to be there for our girl.
"And as always, " Eileen said, "I would like to thank my father, Master Chef Pierre Rouen, for he has taught me all I know!"
I laughed. It was a joke she made every time she won. I had not taught her how to get where she was. I know nothing of swords! But perhaps, though I could not show her where to go, I showed her how to stand tall, along the journey.
"Thank you, and congratulations." The judge said. "Your unique style has made quite a splash, this year, Ms. Rouen. We are all wondering: what do you call this intriguing new technique?"
And my Eileen? She just grinned and said. "This too, I must credit to my father, Master Chef Rouen. I call this technique *'Whisking Meringue!'"*
|
Cornelia absorbs a blow with her shield, but its force makes her stumble backward. Her opponent presses the advantage, raising her broadsword high in the sky.
You recoil, watching the fight through squinted eyes. Cornelia has always had trouble against broadswords, even as a little girl.
With a roar and a snarl, the weapon comes crashing down, reflecting the sunlight before it makes contact with Cornelia’s shield again.
Your daughter rolls away and lands in a crouch, her sword angled at the larger woman. She reaches across her body and tightens her dented shield against her arm.
Cornelia’s opponent shakes her head and storms forward. You chuckle, knowing that a few blows won’t keep your daughter down.
But the blows don’t stop. And Cornelia isn’t dancing the way she usually does.
“Hit her!” you yell. It’s been a long time since you’ve coached from the sidelines, but it’s also been a long time since you’ve seen her on the back foot. The sword fighting tournament has brought the best from every shore of the seven seas. Cornelia and her opponent, lovingly dubbed “The Pixie Maiden,” are the last two competitors left in the field of legendary sword fighters.
Despite your urging, Cornelia continues evading. Is this part of her strategy?
Your daughter stumbles, and a flurry of blows rains down on her shield. She barely gets away.
You run around the fighting pit, jostling your way through shouting fans. Then, behind her coach, you yell, “throw the white!”
Her coach looks at you, shakes her head, then turns back to the action. “Try and get your range!” the coach shouts to your daughter, herself a former champion.
The king’s bugler signals for the end of the round with his instrument. Cornelia and the woman separate; each is going to their respective sides.
“You’ve got to attack!” you say to Cornelia as she meanders over.
Her coach gives you a look that chills your blood.
Cornelia smiles and shrugs. “She’ll get tired eventually.”
You look across the fighting pit and see the Pixie Maiden refuse water as she paces, waiting for the start of the next round.
“Keep doing what you’re doing; we’ll find our opening,” Cornelia’s coach says. They’ve been working together for a few months now, and in that time, you thought she was getting better. But you’ve never seen her being beaten like this. You’ve never seen her beaten before.
The bugle sounds once more, signaling the start of the next round. The Pixie Maiden charges forward, her face locked in a permanent snarl. Cornelia takes smooth steps forward, turning at the last minute and dodging a vicious attack.
For a second, you think she has found her confidence once more. However, seeing her stumble after absorbing a mighty blow with her shield proves otherwise. The rest of the round passes without a single offensive maneuver by Cornelia, or anything resembling control.
During the next break between rounds, the coach asks how your daughter is feeling. “Well, I can’t feel my arms anymore,” she says with a laugh before drinking some water.
The break between rounds ends abruptly, and the two fighters approach the center of the fighting pit again.
When it’s evident that the Pixie Maiden is slowing down, Cornelia’s coach yells, “Press the attack!”
But your daughter is too tired, her limbs too heavy, and the two exhausted competitors continue the same dance to music only they can hear.
“Maybe we think about throwing in the towel,” Cornelia’s coach says when your daughter’s back on her side of the pit.
“No!” Cornelia says immediately.
“Don’t be stubborn!” you chime in.
Cornelia looks at you, her patient gaze reminding you of the time she explained how vital her sword training was to her. “You know you’re my inspiration, right?” she says.
“I know,” you reply, nodding. It’s not the first time you’ve heard your daughter say it. Tears well in your eyes as you take in the woman your daughter has become.
Cornelia’s coach scoffs. “Even though he can’t swing a sword to save his life,” she says while crossing her arms, talking about you.
“It has nothing to do with fighting,” Cornelia says to her coach. The woman deflates upon hearing the hurtful words.
Cornelia looks you in the eye. “It’s because you’re stubborn.”
The bugle sounds before she can elaborate. Somehow, she survives another round.
“You wake up day after day and take care of the animals, the crops, making sure we all have enough to eat. That’s your job. And this is my job: to win sword fights,” Cornelia says between sips of water.
“But you’re not winning,” her coach says.
Both you and Cornelia stare at the coach and speak simultaneously.
“I will,” Cornelia says.
“She will,” you say, surprised at your own words.
The bugle sounds. “When I get back here, I expect you gone,” Cornelia says. Your daughter takes the white towel from her former coach and hands it to you. “Don’t throw it until you’re sure.”
You hop down into the fighting pit and stand where her coach had moments before.
Cornelia meets her opponent in the center; she’s a new fighter. She dodges the first swing and lands her first blow of the day on her opponent’s side. Then, the great broadsword comes back and catches her clean on the arm, digging into her flesh.
A yelp and Cornelia’s sword is on the ground, and your daughter is on one knee. The Pixie Maiden presses, raining down blows on Cornelia’s shield.
Cornelia looks at you and shakes her head. You grip the white towel until your fingers match the fabric.
One more massive blow has Cornelia lying flat on the ground, her eyes on the blue sky above. The Pixie Maiden, breathing heavily, stands over her and points her sword at your daughter’s throat.
The king stands up and announces that he has found his new champion. “The Pixie Maiden, coming from the far side of the Dawn Sea!” the king shouts. The spectators clad in light orange erupt in celebration.
You run out into the fighting pit and gather your daughter. She’s smiling as you help her walk off.
“We’re stubborn,” she says.
You remember when you didn’t have direction or a care in the world before you met Cornelia’s mother. She’s the one who inspired you to strive for more, blessing you with a daughter and a reason for tending your land. And when she passed away all those years ago, you kept going so that your daughter could have a future.
You’re only stubborn because of them.
And she thinks you’re *her* inspiration.
| 2022-04-14T15:06:48
| 2022-04-14T14:58:27
| 198
| 12
|
[WP] You're a common goblin who has, against all odds, slain the hero of the story.
|
Hero jump high. Hero jump far. Hero lead Crusade. Hero armor shiny. Hero crash into goblin and kobolds, orcs and ogres. Into Horde. Bright flash of light. Gold moons fly out from Hero sword, slice through many. See Hero grab ogre and toss in air with one hand. Pain. Fear behind. Warlords whip Horde forward. I scream. I run. I charge. Light shine in eyes. Goblin in front split in two. I shut eyes. Hold spear forward. Spear is not special. Crooked stick with sharp bone tip. I stumble.
I not fall. Spear sink into something soft. Armies go silent. I open eyes. Bone tip in Hero. In between armor. Hero tall. Hero bleed. Spit up blood. Feel air throb. Air push away Horde and Crusade. I float in air with Hero. Start spin. I scared. Fear magic. I try to crawl back. Not happen. Arms and legs flail. We high in air. We explode.
I land on my feet, one knee touching the ground to cushion my fall. I glance around carefully but the Hero's body was nowhere to be seen. I slowly stand back up, rising, rising higher than I've ever been before. I can see the tops of my fellow goblins' heads now. I look down at myself and discover I have changed, gloriously. I prod myself with newly dexterous fingers. I'm taller and my skin is harder now, darkened green over my chest, arms and legs, with only lighter skin around my joints as I flex my body. I wipe my face and head in astonishment and notice my face is smooth and no longer crude and angular, and I now have flowing locks of jet black hair. My thoughts seem clearer now too, with only awkward half statements lingering in my memory.
I look at my spear now, held firmly in my other hand. It has changed into a mighty halberd. The spear's haft is straight now, its polished surface gleams in the sunlight. It feels light, yet strong, its fibers twisted and braided and I somehow know it is stronger than steel. And the head. A sweeping blade curves and arcs sinuously like a flame, emanating purple waves of power. I guess...I'm the Hero now?
Yet, as I now cast my gaze over both the assembled armies of the Crusade and Horde, I realize that I am not the only one to make this conclusion. Worse yet, in their eyes, in all of their eyes, I see greed. The desire for power. The revelation that the Hero is mortal, and his power can be passed on. This does not bode well for me.
What can I do? I run, jump and soar through the air, again and again. Spears, arrows and blasts of magic from all sides greet my flight. I swat them away with my halberd, skillfully wielded in new found expertise. Swords, axes and teeth await my every landing. Their thirst for my blood remain unslaked.
They are no match for me. But then, they don't have to be. I certainly wasn't when I killed the Hero. I continue to flee as both armies resume killing each other even as they try to hunt me down. What life awaits me now?
|
Of course, I’ll never tell of how the hero defeated the giant mountain dragon, letting it fall to its death, that left him weakened. Of course, I’ll never tell of how his final breath was drawn before I let the spear the impaled his chest loose from my hand while hiding behind the cover of the trees. That is not a hero’s story.
I followed the mountain trail because I was not given any duties. The builders were building, the scavengers scavenging, and me? Nothing. They don’t trust me with anything. For years the goblin horde has scoffed and shunned me. I am but a lowly pawn. Days and weeks pass without an opportunity to prove myself. I am small. I am weak.
But today will be different. They will cheer my name, they will sing songs of Grebar the Human Slayer. They will call me the Master of Spear. I will sit on a throne of deer and bear skins. The kingdom will be mine.
Halnor the Beast was slain by this human days ago. He was a reknowned hero of our village with no equal. Stories have been told of the fight that lasted hours. They say the human cheated, as they always do. They say he used magic to burn Halnor alive.
I stared at the hero, he lied on his side in the dirt. The spear made a clean wound through him. Perhaps I am not such a terrible shot.
Wary of the dangers that could lurk on this mountain, I quickly shuffled to the dead human. His pockets contained gold and various rings and weapons. Gold, I thought. Gold would make the villagers idolize me.
I put whatever my small frame can carry in my sack and head back down on the trail. Imagine all their faces turn from shame and embarrassment to pride and jealousy. That is the dream.
It is almost dusk. I’ve been on the road for only a few minutes but the night comes quick. The village is only strides away.
A pain stabs my right arm. I stumble and see an arrow lodged deep. I was careless.
Sitting miserably, I still assume I could get out of this alive. And when I do, the wound will serve only as a testament to my bravery in slaying the human.
My eyes widen. I don’t believe what I see. The same human that was killed only minutes ago is walking toward me. There is no wound, no signs of damage, nothing. I get to my feet and pull out a stone dagger with my left hand.
“Hey, it’s the goblin that killed me” said the human.
“What? No. That was another goblin” I replied. “You can probably find him in the village right over there.” I pointed to the goblin village closeby. I put their lives in danger for mine, so what.
“No worries. I’ll get to them after.”
The human’s hand becomes enveloped in flames, his eyes glow and his voice grows deeper.
“Fucking goblin” he says.
“Wait wait, before you kill me” I say, “how did you survive me spear?”
He chuckled. “Oh, there’s a respawn point right near here”
“What’s a-”
| 2016-07-15T11:00:40
| 2016-07-15T10:37:41
| 31
| 14
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
It had been an accident. Honestly. First semester here, I had just been zoned out in class, hardly paying enough attention to know when to turn the page. Apparently, the teacher had called on me half a dozen times before the girl sitting next to me finally tapped my shoulder. I just kind of, started signing. The professor asked if anyone knew sign language, and Jake raised his hand with the most annoying smirk on his face.
We learned together, you see. When we were kids our friend had some kind of defect. He could speak, it just didn't sound normal. In kindergarten he got bullied for it, and we all learned together so he could just do that. He moved away a few years later, but me and Jake just kept using it cause no one else knew what we were saying.
Look, I panicked ok? I signed and Jake told the class I could read lips pretty good (True.) Also said he'd tell me when I missed things (I did the same for him.) I was gonna just keep up the lie for that class, maybe use it to get out of the big presentation the teacher said was worth half our grade. Except that girl, Cynthia apparently, was learning sign language and wanted to hang out so she could practice. Sure, I mean, I could tell her later. Jake sent me a message and bet I couldn't trick her for a month.
Turns out, I could keep it up for a lot longer than that. And that after a month its really awkward to tell someone you can actually hear. I crushed the paper I did instead of a presentation though. I was always better at writing than talking.
After that, Cynthia just kinda joined our little group. And that meant I had to keep up the game almost all the time. Jake thought it was hilarious. Me, not so much. Eh, not like I talked much anyway.
\_\_\_
'I'm going to the bathroom real quick.' Jake signed. Cynthia and I just waved him off. We were all at my place, watching a movie. Me and Cynthia just sat there for a minute, watching. Then, she started talking.
"Ugh, come on Cynthia! Just spit it out already! Its one sign! That's it!" Huh? What was she talking about? The couch we were sitting on was at an angle, so she was half behind me. I couldn't even ask what was going on!
"Its just- ugh. Why is it so hard? I- I'm just gonna talk ok? I know you can't hear me, but I just, I just need to get it out. Maybe that'll make it easier to say." Should I lean back? Stretch? Do something to stop her? Would it be better to just let her say whatever it is?
"You know that present I gave you a couple weeks ago? The little sculpture thing I made for class?" How could I not? I'd cleared a spot on my dresser for it that day.
"I actually made it back in February. I um, I've been trying to give it to you since. You see, um, well, for valentines out teacher said if we could each make something for someone." Wh-what was she saying? I really should stop her- She wasn't really talking to me! But, but I couldn't make myself-
"I, um, I" She took a deep breath, "Ilikeyou! A lot!"
She... she... Cynthia... She...
She liked... me?
Before Cynthia could say anything else to completely break my brain, a loud laugh came from behind her.
"J-Jake?! You heard that?!"
"Just the last bit. I don't think that's your biggest problem here though."
"What do you mean?"
"You're not the only one who's been trying to spill the beans on something. I think now's a good time, isn't it?"
I took a breath. Well... I couldn't exactly pretend anymore could I? "H-hey, Cynthia." I could hear her turn around to face me again.
"Huh? Wh- what's going on?"
"Um, well, y-you see" I cleared my throat, and finally forced myself to turn around. Cynthia looked like she was piecing it together. "I can, well I-"
"You can hear."
"Yea..."
"Then you just-" I nodded, and it looked like she wanted to pale and blush at the same time. "Why? Why did you lie?"
"Technically we never did."
"Jake, shut up or I'll cut off your tongue and make you eat it!" Cynthia and I said at the same time.
"Great, now I've got to hear that in stereo." Jake said, earning two glares.
"I, I," I couldn't figure out how to say it. My hands went up to try and sign it- sign language was a easier-
"You can talk. Use your words."
I let out a breath, and tried again, "I didn't mean to. I wanted to tell you I just... I couldn't get the words out."
"I planned out my schedule so I could help you in some of your classes."
"I told you not to! I didn't want to do that, but you're just so nice I couldn't get you to stop!" I groaned. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for so long. I just, I'm not good with talking. Never was. Look, Jake, hand me my laptop."
I pulled up a file I'd been working on for months. I'd teetered back and forth on sending it almost every day. "I just sent you my whole confession. You can look at it if you want, I just. I'm sorry."
Cynthia shook her head and got up, grabbing her bag. She walked out without another word. Neither Jake or me said a word. The movie must have ended, because the TV had shut itself off at some point.
It was so quiet I may as well have been deaf.
"I'm sorry."
"Its my fault. I should've told her." I sunk down onto the couch.
"Hey, if there's anything you need-"
"I just need to be alone right now." Jake nodded, and left without another word.
\_\_\_
I must have fallen asleep. I don't know how, but I did. My phone was vibrating, tapping against the glass next to it just often enough to be annoying. "Ugh, who is it?" I muttered, blindly fumbling for it.
Cynthia.
I was wide awake now. I punched in my code, half expecting a mile long rant about how awful I was. Instead, it fit on one line.
**You shared the whole folder idiot.**
The what- I grabbed my computer and glanced. There were only two files in there. The one admitting I wasn't deaf. And one saying I liked her.
Oops...
I got another message.
**You're taking me out on Saturday to make up for this. Pick me up at 6.**
|
What do I say?
Do I say anything?
I just finished my powerpoint presentation, in lieu of a speech, a request that was granted by my public speaking professor. My topic was surrealism and after closing with a slide featuring Salvador Dali's "The Persistence of Time", the bell rang and it was time to head across campus for Logic 101. I garnered the obligatory applause from the class, grabbed my backpack, and started to head to the hallway when I heard a whispered voice in my right ear.
"I love you Darren."
It was the brown haired Zooey Deschanel look-alike that I've been crushing on since the first day of the semester.
She knew I was "deaf" right?
My strategy had worked like a charm ever since middle school. I remember this bigger kid bullying me at lunch about my Cure t-shirt. My response came out of nowhere. I pretended I couldn't hear him, and it worked. He made a fool of himself making fun of a deaf kid. A deaf kid with excellent musical taste.
I've been bulletproof ever since. Words can't hurt if you can't hear them, right? I went on to befriend the two deaf kids at my small town school. We would have long conversations about comic books, classic movies, and video games, all in beautifully clear and silent sign language. Instead of playing the high school popularity game, I didn't play at all. I was exempt from the banal cliches of homecoming blah blah... basically I avoided the bullshit that doesn't matter and never mattered.
The unfortunate part was that dating was off the table. Not many deaf girls in Newton, Ks. I never knew how to talk to girls anyway so now i manufactured the perfect excuse. I'm probably still too young to fully realize this but your lies always catch up to you. At some point you have to face your frauds. Is this one of those "coming of age" moments where I finally become who I really am?
I hesitated, not knowing how/if I should respond. If I speak, then I blow my cover forever. I lose my protective barrier between my quirky weird silent self and the rest of well-adjusted humanity. If I remain deaf and mute, I perpetuate what I've sensed for a long time as an unhealthy crutch that I've been using as an easy way out of living a full life.
It's becoming clear to me that I'm at a fork in the road. I must decide now. My mind flashes between me and my future grandkids playing in the park, and me as a middle-aged man working at a warehouse where I still don't speak. I'd forgotten how.
Right then I realized there was only one way to go.
"My hearing is actually pretty good in my right ear you know..."
| 2020-12-01T18:23:03
| 2020-12-01T17:46:27
| 61
| 13
|
[WP] Two Serial Killers Go on a Date, and are Unaware of Each Other's Motives
|
Blonde hair, hazel eyes, slim build...everything about this girl excites me. She is everything I look for in a woman. New to the city, hasn't yet made too many connections, a chance like this is a godsend.
“More wine?”
She gladly accepts. She idly stabs at her lamp chop, girl has no idea what she's doing to me. Red oozes from the messy cut of meat, my blood is flowing to all the right places.
“So tell me Karen, what do you like to do for fun?”
I watch as she actively struggles to keep her eyes from visibly rolling at such a cliché first date question...they always struggle.
“Well back home I was big into hiking, I love being out in nature. Yourself?”
The corners of her mouth lift ever so slightly as to seem like she means it. Society is built around ritual and expectations. I like to think that I have my own.
"I used to kayak in the central valley before I moved out here. I try to stay active so I'm big into bike riding."
Unmistakable interest flashes across her face, now I've got her.
"I like a man who appreciates the great outdoors..." She leans forward and brings her shoulders ever so slightly together, pushing up her chest, she knows I'm looking, she knows that I like that I see. "Do you know any scenic places around here that maybe we could check out after dinner?"
Her eyes never leave mine as I feel her foot under the table find my lap and close in on the outline of my manhood, my strength, something a weak woman like her can never take from me.
Play it cool. Clearly she's on the end of a dry spell, her posture, the constant sideways glances don't exactly paint her as a social butterfly. She's hungry, she wants me, but I'm the only one who's going to eat tonight. With a confident grin, I tell her, "Oh, I can show you places." In the corner of my field of vision I spot our server, "Waiter, check please."
It's going to be a good night...
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Chez Marianne? I guess I can't blame the guy for trying. Mama always said men are only after one thing and clearly this guy wants to be sure he gets it. Disgusting.
"More wine?"
I don't know who he thinks he's fooling, clearly he wants to get me hammered. I do my best to look coy as I sip from my recently overflowing glass. A single line of red dribbles down the side, it's taunting me. Primal, life affirming, powerful.
“So tell me Karen, what do you like to do for fun?”
Really? God, I just want to get out of here already. This guy is so painstakingly by the book, I'll be doing him a favor really, he probably wonders why women are never into him. Might as well give him the standard answer.
“Well back home I was big into hiking, I love being out in nature. Yourself?”
Unexpectedly, opportunity knocks.
"I used to kayak in the central valley before I moved out here. I try to stay active so I'm big into bike riding."
Perfect. No one really pays attention to a pretty little thing such as myself in the wrong part of town so long as I've got a big, strong man on my arm, but you still have to keep your eyes open for witnesses. This guy likes being away from prying eyes. It's time to seal the deal.
"I like a man who appreciates the great outdoors..." He's been eyeing my bust all night long. I press them together, he probably thinks of it as foreshadowing of pleasures to come. "Do you know any scenic places around here that maybe we could check out after dinner?"
I kick off a shoe so I can size up the situation. Fool. He's already thinking with his other head..geez, he is really thinking down there. That's really all it ever takes, a little contact with the right parts and they stop thinking at all. He thinks he's getting lucky, he has no idea.
"Oh, I can show you places." He's obviously trying not to look too excited, "Waiter, check please."
It's going to be a good night...
|
As our steak arrived I realized this was all too easy. Normally I have to be convincing, charming even. If my steak simply walked into my mouth I wouldn't enjoy it as much. I savor knowing the agony the cow went through only to end up in my musculature. Amanda has hinted three times now that I need to see her art collection; at her house. She claims her place is a sprawling manor without any other homes in sight. But it can't be as big as mine.
My manor is a large wooded estate, perfect for discrete comings and goings. Apparently Amanda lives nearby, getting her to my place will be too simple. Perhaps I should offer to show her my unrivaled collection of Sun-Tzu pottery, again.
"You should come by after dinner, I just got this new Frank Stella. Its very...erotic." Her blunt offer came as no surprise. I had seen her twist her hair and touch her lips on at least two different occasions; major indicators of interest according to Reddit.com/r/seduction. Perhaps it would be OK to see her place. I have my knife and my chloroform on me.
"I'd love to." I say as I see Amanda appreciate the balance of her steak knife.
| 2013-12-30T18:59:46
| 2013-12-30T18:36:23
| 39
| 12
|
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though!
|
(Not exactly senile but I liked the idea of an aging hero and a young, sympathetic villain).
Lightning crackled as a bolt screamed across the pavement, filling the air between the dock warehouses with a blinding blue flash. Tempest frowned as it struck Captain Tomorrow in the chest.
“You used to be faster…” He mumbled as he slowly walked towards the twitching, barely conscious form of the aging hero. “You had it all: strength, speed, intelligence. Some even claimed you had telekinesis…” He knelt next to the large man and put a hand on his chest. Just as Captain Tomorrow’s eyes closed, Tempest let out a small burst of electricity from his palm and Captain Tomorrow sprang up suddenly. “I’m not done with you yet, old man.”
“Why don’t you just kill me?” the defeated hero growled, his breathing ragged, one eye fused shut by lightning. “Isn’t that what you do?”
“You think I’m a murderer?!” Tempest shouted, hoisting the gigantic man through the air with all his might and shoving him against the brick wall before releasing him and turning away, staring up at the moon. “I’ve never killed a soul…” He whispered.
Captain Tomorrow tilted his head. Why had Tempest turned his back? The naïve inexperience of a young villain? No, he had won this fight. He wasn’t stupid. What was his game? “Doesn’t matter… you’ve hurt plenty with your villainous actions.” He spat.
Tempest turned back to the hulking figure sitting propped up against the wall; an artifact, a stalwart defender of a time long past. “Why do you fight?” He asked the old man, staring into his greying eye.
“I- I… fight for…” Captain Tomorrow stammered, looking for the words. “I fight for justice. I fight for those who cannot. I fight to keep evil at bay and t-“
“Cut the bullshit!” Tempest sneered for a moment before taking a breath and regaining composure. “I don’t want to hear that canned crap. I want to know why YOU fight. This world is broken. Things aren’t like they were. Lines have crossed, black and white have fused into a blurry grey. Heroes and Villains don’t exist anymore. The Coalition of Defense dried up ages ago and your friends with it. Red Flag is locked up underground with dementia because it was ‘too expensive’ to attempt rehabilitation, Carrion is doing street performances for food, and Lightfoot offed himself after that false rape allegation had him labeled a menace to all. The world is not on your side. The PEOPLE are not on your side… why are you on theirs?”
Captain Tomorrow stared with a wide eye at the young man standing before him. There was such passion in his words. A tear escaped the big man’s eye, followed by another and another. Soon a steady stream of tears flowed down his cheeks as he ran a hand through his sparse, greying hair and let out an exasperated laugh. “It’s all I know…” He cried. “It’s all I know.”
Tempest frowned at the big man out of pity. “This…” he said, gesturing towards the broken relic of a man “This is why I fight.” He walked over and slid down the wall to sit next to Captain Tomorrow. As the man wept next to him, Tempest pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a spark from his thumb. “You’ve been at this for 50 years, started while you were just a kid. You got picked up by the Coalition of Defense and made a career out of stopping Villains who wanted to destroy the world or rule it. But as time went on, those Villains found other ways to make their mark. They traded in their capes and lairs for three-piece suits and skyscrapers. Turns out ruling the world or destroying it is a lot easier than anyone thought.” He took a long drag of the cigarette and passed it to the old man who took it warily and began to smoke.
“So why do you fight?” The hulking figure asked, wiping the tears from his face. “I don’t understand. You say that the villains are no more but you steal and destroy property, you cause mayhem. Why do you do it?”
Tempest sighed and looked at the ground. “My father taught me to stand up for what I thought was right. He said that sometimes people would try to tell me I was wrong but if I listened to my heart, I could never fail. Those villains he fought are running the show now. They’re in the corps, the government, and the law enforcement. Even our once renowned heroes don’t get the care and respect they deserve because those who could get it done don’t care. Not all of them are corrupt but like I said, everything is grey now. It’s hard to distinguish between the good and the bad. All I have left to follow is my heart.”
The old man put his head in his hands. “Maybe I’m too old for this. I’ve been defending this city for so long and not once has it defended me. Your path sounds like vengeance but perhaps it’s just the way of the world now.” He sighed and dropped the cigarette into a puddle. “What a world it is where people like you are the only ones who seem to give a shit.”
Tempest smirked and hopped to his feet extending a hand toward the big man who hesitated before taking it and clambering to his feet.
“Come on…. Let’s go home dad.”
|
As Anton's whip tightened around Tony's neck, all the while sending huge volts of electricity through Tony's armor, he saw a familiar figure walk towards him.
"Ms. Carter, please step away!!!".
Peggy stopped for a second, and then continued walking towards Anton.
"Stop! You know his father stole my dad's inventions. He will pay for his father's sins."
Peggy stood face to face with Anton. Well, technically, her chest was facing his stomach. She didn't hate her old age, but was definitely not too happy about how much effort it took for her to stand up straight. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. Now they were chest to face. Peggy summoned some more strength and lifted her neck and looked into Anton's eyes.
"Now, Anton, do not pretend that your father was righteous and innocent. I think we both know the things he did."
His eyes dropped, he looked sideways, unable to make eye contact, "He was no angel, but his father," looking at Tony writhing at the other end of his whip, "reaped the benefits of my father's hard work, and build such a huge business empire. His father," he lowered his voice as he increased the voltage that hit the armor, "sent my father back to Russia, where he spent the rest of his life in a Gulag."
"Anton, is that what your father told you?"
Anton's eyes met hers, searching for answers. She continued...
"I was in SHIELD. You want to know what happened? Your father was kidnapped by HYDRA, and then some of the major publications released news stories of him being deported."
"He was a brilliant scientist. You think that if he had been deported, he would've been kept in a Gulag?" She laughed a little. "You think Russians would waste a great mind such as your father's in a Gulag". She said Gulag in a typical Russian accent and really elongated the aa sound to make her point.
"What do you think the SHIELD did with Arnim Zola? Do you think we threw him in a prison? No, we put him to work, and he worked for us until the day he died."
"He was old, senile, and brainwashed, by the time they let him go, probably he was of no use to them anymore."
"Come on Anton, Tony's not your enemy. Let him go, and hold me hostage so that he doesn't hurt you."
"I am not taking you hostage, Peggy."
"But you're letting him go."
"I am not sure"
"Yes you are"
"Peggy, how do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"Anton, I might be lying to you, but you agree that there is room for doubt in your theory. Right? Then I will go and talk to Tony"
"It's going to take you the whole year to reach him, by then his backup will be here."
"You really want to insult me right now?"
"Teasing, Ms. Carter, teasing, not insulting... I am sorry..."
Peggy turned around and thought to herself. Well it's going to be a long walk.
As she neared Tony, she was grateful that this time she won't have to straighten up, the man was already on his knees.
"How you doing Tony?"
"Listen Peggy, I don't need your help, my armor is protecting me like a faraday cage, thanks to the failsafes I created to save myself from lightning strikes."
"Tony, who is the man you are fighting?"
"Peggy, please don't think of this as a teachable moment, I am working over here. I really don't need any 'know your enemy' lessons right now"
"What happened Tony, systems are offline, can't run a facial recognition?"
"His whip's fried all armor connectivity below my helmet, my network sensors are on my back, and they are offline."
"So you can't even call for backup?"
Tony's voice was very low, as he very sheepishly said, "No"
"And... you don't need my help? Okay, why am I not dead right now?"
"Peggy, stop asking me questions, I am busy", Tony said, annoyed, when it suddenly dawned on him, "Why aren't you dead, Peggy? Because you know him!!!?? How? Why is someone you know attacking me? What's going on Peggy?"
"Because his father was a friend..." she paused, waiting for his helmet to turn towards her " of your father and me"
"Then why the hell is he attacking me, how the hell does he have my ARC reactor? Oh because his father invented it. He is Vanko's son."
"Finally, you learnt something, do you promise not to attack him?"
"He killed so many people here today, how can I let him go?"
"I am trying to save your behind, young man!!! At least have some common sense."
"Peggy, I can't let him go..."
"Tony, as things stand, I really don't think you're in a position of holding him. I am going to go and make him go away. Catch him next time... Although I'll recommend that you try helping him."
"Why will I help him?"
Peggy just shrugged, and went back to Anton, "what do you want to do?"
"I don't know, I killed so many people here today"
"Anton, that's what you did, what do you want to do now?"
"Peggy, they will arrest me..."
"Yes Anton, but they will not deport you, you built an ARC reactor yourself, in a garage in Russia. What do you think will happen next? You will go to prison, but you will work on stuff you always dreamed of."
"What about him?"
"His suit is offline from the neck down"
Anton turned off his whip, and Tony collapsed to the ground. Cops surrounded him, "Stupid old bitch, always thinks she can talk these guys out of things and get them to surrender." said one
Antone turned on his whips again, and took the cop by the scruff and said, "Did you just call Ms. Carter a bad word? You're lucky I don't feel like killing more people today, better apologise to her afterwards."
| 2017-04-13T07:07:03
| 2017-04-13T05:10:16
| 17
| 10
|
[WP]Write a gritty and depressing story set in a cutesy and childlike environment, or do the reverse and write a childishly optimistic fairy tale set in a grim dystopia.
|
A cold wind blew on Ponytown.
The candybeans were in bloom, but all the color in the world couldn't crack the worn face of Mr. Buttercup. He leaned up against the back wall of the flowertorium, waiting for his contact to show. He chewed on his lollipop stick, it's sweet flavor long vanished, turned into the bitter grit of cardboard and his own saliva.
A shadow approached from around the corner and Mr. Buttercup eyed the figured with suspicion. She had a mane on her, that was for sure. Pink as the sunset, and longer than most. It had to be Lady Sprinkles.
"You're the source?" Mr. Buttercup shoved off of the wall and trotted down the alley toward Lady Sprinkles, "You? You right there with the mayor and his ilk. You smile as they drag the dissenters away!"
"I do what I must to survive." Lady Sprinkles' voice was not the same as it was in public, fear colored it instead of laughter, "You know they watch. They always watch. I have to be what *they* want to see. It all has to be happy. It all has to be *bright!*"
Mr. Buttcup nodded and spat his lollipop stick on the ground, "Where'd they take Bluebell?"
"Bluebell? This is about Bluebell?" Sprinkles took a step back, "No, that's too big. If you go after Bluebell then we're all dead. Bluebell's already dead, I'm sure of it. After what she did-"
"She's important." Mr. Buttercup closed the gap between them, showing his teeth, "If we don't get Bluebell then its curtains for all of us. Fine, candy curtains for all."
**"MARCY!"**
Marcy looked up from her old and faded Ponytown playset. It was in bad shape, but it was all she had. She made it hers. When she was in Ponytown she wasn't hungry. Ponytown was where she liked to be.
"Yes mom?" Marcy dropped the one-eyes Mr. Buttercup doll and the sticky, hairy Lady Sprinkles and squeezed around the fallen I-beam that cut right through her bedroom. She climbed over the broken door and hopped down into the hallways, skipping her way into the kitchen where her mother and father stood grinning.
"I caught a rabbit, honey!" Her dad beamed, holding up the large animal by its back feet, "Real rabbit! Come here, feel it's fur!"
Marcy made an O with her mouth and wandered over, sticking her hands onto the grey fur, "It's so soft!"
"I can make a hat for you from it." Marcy's mom smiled, "If you want."
"Wow!" Marcy hopped up and down, "And we'll have meat tonight!"
"Yes!" Her father laid the rabbit on the counter top, picked his daughter up and swung her around in the air until she was in fits of giggles, "Rabbit stew! Like your grandmother used to make! With carrots!"
"Carrots!" Marcy laughed, "Carrots are for ponies!"
"Well, you're my little pony." Her dad kissed her on the forehead and held her tight.
|
GRITTY INTERPRETATION
All was well in the kingdom before Lord Licorice began plotting his takeover of Candyland. His machinations knew no end, even going so far as to steal King Kandy's own children and abandon them on the border of the realm. For weeks, their only company was a large, hairy creature whose fur was stained green with algae. Having a strange affinity for the local fruit, the children named the creature "Plumpy."
Had Mr. Mint not come across the children during his work, they might easily have starved to death, or been devoured by the creature. Mint knew he could not trust a monster of that size to be so close to the children, barely old enough to be considered heirs. He attacked the creature, his axe connecting to the creature's ribs. With a great howl, the creature swung back, missing Mr. Mint's head by inches. Mint wrenched the axe from the creature and drove the head of his weapon into the neck of his foe. With a gurgle, the beast slumped to the ground, dead.
Mr. Mint instantly recognized the children as the son and daughter of King Kandy himself. There was hardly a soul in the kingdom who did not know the faces of the two most famous children in Candyland. Kneeling to meet them at eye level, he informed them that he would escort them as far as he could to Candy Castle, but that they must stay close to him if they wish to survive.
"For there are a great many dangers we face on the way to the castle," he spoke. "We must pass through the Gumdrop Mountains. A man named Jolly is said to thrive there. But do not let his name betray you; he is an eccentric man with peculiar tastes. Do not let him get you alone, or the other will never see you again." The children nodded their heads in subservience.
"After we pass the Gumdrop Mountains, we have a long trek before we get anywhere safe. We will tread on the very border of Lord Licorice's lands, a ruthless tyrant. I have heard rumors that he slew his own family to secure his throne, and I care not to be there long enough to find out the truth."
The girl spoke up, "But...there has to be someone who would help us. Our father is the king, after all." Propping himself up with his ribboned tool, he informed the girl, "Perhaps. I have an old friend on the far side of Lollipop Woods. I haven't heard from her in years, but she may be of help to us."
The boy now spoke up, "But what about Princess Lolly? Or Queen Frostine? Surely someone of nobility would see us home safely."
Mr. Mint stared down at the boy in bemusement. "Your father hasn't told you much, has he?" The children gazed back up at him in awe. Mint sighed, "Frostine and Lolly have been at war with your father for as long as you both have been alive. Each claims that they have sole right to sit upon the Hard Candy Throne. It is best that you two lay low for now."
And with no other words, Mr. Mint led the two children towards Gumdrop Mountains, axe perched upon his shoulder.
| 2017-05-26T10:01:39
| 2017-05-26T08:45:27
| 70
| 15
|
[WP] Dwarves are notorious for their love of alcohol. One day a dwarf goes sober and discovers it grants them amazing powers such as being able to remember what happened the night before.
|
Oh how much the world can change in just half a year. The great kingdoms of mankind reduced to quarries for the Dwarves to build their fortresses, the sacred groves and forests of the Elves nothing more than kindling for dwarven forges.
Noone knew just how it had begun, how this could have happened. Countless tongues cried out to their gods and heard no answer, scholars buried themselves into fruitless discussions, one more outlandish than the other... and the Dwarves conquered. More and more and more, with unending vigor and hunger for victory.
Thrrustan, 'The Ascended', still lead them onwards with a triumphant grin on his face. He had been the first. The first to ascend. To become more. To realize the full potential of dwarvenkind. Whatever he had done to his people: They had changed, for better and for worse all at once. The differences had been subtle at first, unnoticable to an outsider, but they had spread through dwarven society like a wildfire.
Their charming mumbling had disappeared - now, dwarven mouths everywhere gave orders in a cold, harsh language and with painfully precise pronunciation.
Their were faster than ever before, scaling buildings and crossing plains with equal ease as if something had set free even more power in their stout physique. They were tireless now, their cities brimming with the sounds of forges and soldier's boots day and night without pause, as if they had lost all need of sleep.
They were merciful overlords. A year or two passed and the reckless conquerers settled down again, ruling over their realm from sea to sea, undisputed and terrifying in their might. But all was not bad for elves and humans: The far-famed dwarven ale was generously distributed among their long-legged subjects and gave them something to look forward to after a hard day's work while their overlords feasted on whatever game they desired - and paired it with the only drink reserved for their noble palates: Pure dwarven spring water from their old home underground.
|
Libash was fishing. He loved to fish, even if other dwarfs would make fun of him for it. In the dwarven society many jobs were considered useless, but fishering work was considered one of the most. At least he did his job well, purging the life out of lakes and rivers in moments. He was able to feed the fortress for centuries, wat would be somewhat valuable if the food stockpiles weren't overflowing by the others crafts already.
But he did his job well, "better than the miners that dig so narrow passages; better than the oversser that designed so much many curves and long corridors in the fortress entrance, making the way down the fortress way longer than necessarie; better than the novice armosmith that was crafting such a poor armor that would make fighter prefer go to battle armorless; better than... oh, the pond is dead, my job here is finished".
Libash went directly to the entrance door, "let the haulers take care of the fish, I doubt there is barrels to spare storing it, it will rot as alwa..." pwe, the arrow went right by his head, he went runing to the door that was now locked. "fuckers let me outside to die" Libash knew that storie well. When a siege aprachs the overseer will make enormous effort to save the brewer, the metalsmith and even the engraver, but did less than look for the fisherdwarf that acctualy had a reason to be outside, even if there is enough time to let him in. He knew better than bash the door and wait for a response, he bolted right for the pond, the animals would distract the invaders and give him enough time to... drink, Libash was tirstie as hell, with no acess to booze he was subject to one more humiliation: to drink water out of the pond. At least it motivate him "I can not die know, water shall not be my last drink" and he drank, and drank and hided and waited. The goblins was now exchanging arrows for bolts with the dwarfs in the towers, the dogs were set loose and were made food for the beak dogs, are newly formed squad was heading outside of the doors, underequipeds and ready to die, "only a distraction" he knew, even if one soldier managed to survive the goblins, nothing would escape the warm bath. And it came, glowing, fast, under the pressure of the most experients pump operators, the gods piss killed everyone and destroyed everything except for the valuable metal armor. And it was done. The siege ended, he could only wait, wait for the magma to evaporate to gain acess to the underworld. It took more water and many raw fishes before he could entry the earth.
to be continued
| 2017-12-31T08:10:56
| 2017-12-31T07:55:00
| 100
| 12
|
[WP] You are a child, born into slavery via artificial insemination, in order to pay off your dead parents debt.
Upon death, if a debt is held and no heir exists to inherit it, the owner of the debt may have a child born with the DNA of the one in debt. The child is then required to work towards paying off the debt at which point they are terminated.
|
Ever Corp's headquarters looked like a huge oblong, slightly more elongated along the western wall, where the plushy sales offices were. Not that any of the Ever bodies would know. Adam had spent most of his life in the other half of an Ever Corp facility; from creche to school to offices.
Debt in the thirties had reached such a point that a man could not reasonably be expected to pay it off within his lifetime. At first laws were passed, such that debts were passed down, like a pair of long-worn out socks, from father to son. Down through the lines.
Imagine turning 18 and finding out you have four generations of debt, interest compounded, just waiting to suck up every last chip on your paycheque each month. All of this put the debt collectors at a bit of disadvantage however if said debtor perished childless. Rear ended by a semi or the classic aneurism at forty; generations of debt, past and future, wiped out in an instant. It wouldn't do. Adam's father had died on a motorway, fixing a broken axel because he couldn't afford a decent repair.
Nowadays you need three things to sign a loan; your name, your ID and your blood. Who, where and what you are. So now, when mister bigspender croaks after stuffing half a kilo of co-mex up his nose, Ever Corp (or one of their subsidiaries) can keep the bloodline going. Adam's father had never settled down. Never had a kid of his own.
It's not slavery. Per se. The kid gets a life, or as much of one as Ever Family Services can provide with all the expenses added to the life debt. And when they turn 18, they start paying. Two things in life used to be certain: death and taxes. Alleviate the former and and reap the latter. To the corporate execs it was a landmark, an infinite supply of workers. Never again would a debt go unpaid.
Ever bodies, like Adam, had two numbers in their lives. Their ID and their amount owed. The latter had more numbers than the other. The problem began when the former began to grow. Ever Corp started growing thousands of kids, then millions.
Adam had spent his whole life counting down his number. Ever Corp realised the danger of uncontrolled growth, so found a way to kill two birds with one stone. Well, really it was killing one bird, but you got lots of stones out of it.
The average human body is worth about two million chips. You've got the organs, tissue and the like. A healthy set of lungs still beat the best prosthetics for now. Throw in the carbon offset from removing yourself from the atmosphere and Ever Corp will happily write off the last percentage of your debt.
So here Adam stood, the last of his line, signing away the last chip he'd ever have to pay.
|
Logan counted down the days to freedom. It was always the same. No one told him directly, but it was always the same. Once the debt was paid, you weren't terminated directly. That couldn't happen. The state wouldn't allow it. They had to take out the tracker to be used in some other slave. The explosives that would kill if he tried to escape had to be removed from his neck. Once that happened, it was off to the showers, but Logan had heard stories, stories of runners. Logan had even read a book about another Logan running from death. Before the time before the book, he was only known by his number, 105439343. Now, only to himself, he was Logan.
The day comes. He goes to the slaughterhouse. That's what was called. There was no masking it. He was going to be made into dog and cat food. People didn't want to eat him. He was the lowest class of meat. The first technician he visits digs into his arm and removes his tracker. The second injects his neck with the anti-explosive device. Next was the showers. One man leads them. Another man follows. There were hundreds of them herded to their death. He moves to the front of the line before he sees the watchtowers. He grabs the leader. He twists his head until his neck snaps.
Bullets tear the group apart. Logan tries to climb the walls, but it doesn't work. Shots ring out from the back. He only has one hope, to rush into the showers. He does. He sees a door. He beats on it and kicks it. Others join him, but the door behind them closes. The showers turn on. He keeps beating on the door, but he doesn't know that it's not real, his last gasping breaths spent struggling for freedom. Logan will run no more.
***
If you like this story, I have a subreddit[ r/nickkuvaas](http://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas) with more, and I am also the spotlight author of the week. Ask me a question.
| 2015-10-02T14:53:52
| 2015-10-02T14:43:01
| 18
| 10
|
[WP] The world's smallest dragon must defend his hoard, a single gold coin, from those who would steal it.
|
Luven followed the map his dad had given him. It wasn't very tidy nor detailed, but what he'd to find was clear as the sky above: a tiny cave hidden somewhere in their backyard.
And so, Luven started, wielding a wooden sword, and walking with the uncertainty of a child's first time venturing alone. His father cheered for him from the safety of their home, as his son's little leather boots moved across the ankle-high grass.
Soon, he reached his first obstacle, a wall of brambles. He knew, despite his age, how sharp they could be, and so he halted and examined the map. The treasure lay beyond. He had to do something.
He scanned the bushes, seeking for a safe passage, and amidst the evil plants, he found a hole his size. Beaming, he shrunk and went through with a pearl-white smile, as the sun caught in his wooden sword.
Beyond he found many thin, and young poplars, but no treasure he could see. Confused, he stared at the map once again, and saw the spot was marked with an "H" instead of an X.
"H?" he murmured, scratching his head, and looked ahead, to where the treasure was supposed to be. There, he found a big hole, and he breathed a sigh of relief. That was what the H had meant.
However, his curved lips knitted when he saw what awaited inside, defending the riches.
It was a young dragon, with two wings as long as his arms, and thin sharp teeth like needles. It was red as fire, and it bore eyes of liquid silver.
Luven raised his sword aloft, and pointed it straight at the confused dragon, who stared at him with a tilted head, while clouds of smoke billowed out its nostrils. "We shall fight for your hoard, dragonling." He attempted a deep intonation, but his voice came out soft and unthreatening anyway.
The dragon hid in his hole, fumbled in the dirt, and fluttered out of it. In his ungrown claws, it held a single golden coin the size of an eye. Then, it tilted its head, and held it out for Luven to grab.
"What? For me?" Luven said, and dropped his sword. He accepted the offeri, and sat beside the winged beast. "Why?"
"An offering of friendship," the dragon said, its voice soft and harmless. "Now you are bound to me, and I'm bound to you. This is the way fate wants it."
Luven's eyes glittered, and a flood of dreams swarmed his mind. "Does this mean that we will raid together? Will I get to ride you in the future as we rescue innocent from the hands of bad people?"
The dragon nodded, and rubbed its forehead against Luven's chest. "It is written in the sheets of fate. No one will stop us."
Luven smiled a true smile, and raised the coin skyward. It sparked beneath the sun, and in that brief flash of white, he saw them, all grown up, soaring the skies, laughing as they flew to their next adventure. "Thanks dad," he muttered to himself, and took a deep breath.
That innocent day, beneath the eye of the tender sun, an everlasting friendship worthy of countless tales was born.
----------------------------
/r/ahumongousfish - I should be studying.
|
No one ever expected to find me. Going about their lives, adventurers and rich seeking individuals alike would find their way into my lair. They would hear word of a great hoard, an unattainable treasure. This was my treasure.
As I lay on my hoard, eyes closed and breathing slow, I heard it. That oh so familiar sound. A crunch. A sound that may normally be unnoticed, I had become attuned to hearing it. The leaves at the entrance of my lair had a purpose. To warn me of would be thieves.
I yawned and stretched my limbs, even as I heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the nearby caverns. Quiet voices echoed off the walls, reaching my sensitive ears. I doubt they even knew I had heard them.
I slid off my hoard, making sure not to disturb it, and crept towards the exit of my treasure cavern. I crawled through it, making sure to keep my wings tucked close to my back to ensure they wouldn't get caught and tear. I had made that mistake twice before. The healing process was a nightmare.
My claws hooked into the familiar crevices, the same nooks and crannies that I had used at least a hundred times before. The footsteps were closer now. Light and slow, as if the owners were trying to be stealthy. As if any of these things could ever be sneaky. Even the stealthiest ones sound like an avalanche.
I poked my head through the exit hole, taking care to avoid being seen. My greater eyesight allowed me to see what others might not be able to in these dark conditions. A party of 4. Weapons on their backs, armour taken off to increase stealth, moving ever so slowly to avoid detection. It would be almost humorous if I didn't know what they were here for.
I slid my head back in and waited, listening to those footsteps get closer and closer. Finally, I saw the form of the party rogue creeping past, their cloak wrapped around them. Cloth. Perfect.
Without a moments hesitation I opened my jaws wide, feeling that hot sensation in my belly rise into my throat. They started to turn, as if they had noticed the building light. But it was too late.
I released my torrent of flames, engulfing their cloak in flames. The rogue sprinted down the hallway, screaming and desperately trying to pat out the flames that licked his body. I inflated my chest and let out a roar. A roar, that when amplified by the cave walls, shook bones and deafened ears.
The adventurers didn't so much as look over their shoulder. They sprinted out of my lair, fleeing for their lives. I smiled and crept back into my home. I saw the brilliant shine of my treasure and felt the same desire that had caused me to take it in the first place build in my chest.
I climbed on top and wrapped my tail around my body, closing my eyes and relaxing once more.
This was my treasure. My hoard. My single gold coin.
| 2018-10-24T15:23:49
| 2018-10-24T15:09:05
| 50
| 22
|
[WP] A man who has lived a thousand years takes up a job teaching high school world history.
|
I know this will probably be deleted, but I have to say it anyway. If anybody is really interested in a fantastic movie similar to this concept, check out [The Man From Earth.](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0756683/) It really blew my mind the first time I saw it.
|
**PART ONE**
***
*High School students sit at wooden desks under fluorescent lighting on a fall day. They patiently await their new teacher, who unbeknownst to them, has been alive for just over half a millennia. A middle-aged man enters the room with a gruesomely noticeable scar that circles three quarters the circumference of his neck. It is Macbeth, former High King of Alba.*
***
"Hello class, my name is Professor Macbeth. I will be your World History instructor today."
A shaken class watches in horror as the visually frightening man wrote his name on the chalkboard. A girl from the back cautiously raises her hand.
"Professor, aren't you the one from that Shakespearean play?" said the girl.
"Yes, I'm afraid so. However, you may find that it was quite dramatized. Hollywood eh? Or should I say Bankside? Oh well. Yes, that is I." said Macbeth
"Didn't you die?"
"Do I look dead?"
"...no"
"Do you know that movie Highlander?"
"I think so..."
"It's exactly like that. My head was not completely severed fortunately, but I have been exiled since. So here I am instructing YOU ungrateful bastards for a $30,000 salary. Let's get on with it shall we?"
***
*to be continued?*
| 2015-04-14T18:17:41
| 2015-04-14T14:32:31
| 20
| 13
|
[WP] You have just returned to your camp after being bitten by a zombie to say your goodbyes. You are surprised to find the national guard giving your friends a vaccine. The world is saved. However, the vaccine only works on the healthy. You lost at the endgame and these your last 24 hours.
|
It doesn't hurt. I thought it would.
It's a novocaine sensation. I think of my arm being made of that foam stuff inside car seats. That's what it feels like.
The rotter was wounded. I was careless. The bite was fast, took a piece of me. It was over before I knew it had happened. I blew the rotter's face off and left it on the forest floor.
The walk back to camp is uneventful. I notice things easier. How the mid-afternoon sunlight attaches itself to every leaf and rock and branch. I hear every little sound-- the crunch of every twig and rock under my footsteps, the wings of gnats, the ripples of a puddle.
When I make it back to camp, I see the vaccine has arrived. I'd gone out to get one last run of water. They were making a cake to celebrate the end of the epidemic. They'd been saving an old box of cake mix. They needed water for it. I volunteered to go out to the well. We hadn't seen a rotter in days. Ever since word of the vaccine, the rotters have stopped coming.
I brought back only one jug of water. My bite arm wouldn't hold the other one and I had to leave it. I figure one jug is enough for a celebration cake.
That numb feeling, again. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't anything. It's just numb. I'm aware that's the virus working its way into my bloodstream. Feels like when it's been asleep. I know that's not your blood, it's your nerves waking up, that feeling that I used to refer to as "salt and pepper" when I was a kid, but that's the closest I can get to describing it.
The sky is incredible, just a clean blue sky with the sun like a jewel. I notice every breath I take, every blink. I take my steps. I feel like I'm walking uphill.
As I round the bend into camp, I see the military vehicles, everyone around them, everyone hugging, tears of joy. I could've waited, got the water later. I didn't. Everything was fine. I'd go get the water for the cake. Everything would be fine. The vaccine was on its way. Everything was fucking fine.
They don't know what it's like to turn into a rotter from the rotter's perspective. The ability to communicate is one of the first things to go. It's fast and then it's slow, that's all we know. I'll ask them to sedate me, to put me under. I want to say goodbye to everyone as well as I can. I'll at least get that much out of it. So many people went rotter by themselves, not knowing what was happening to them.
Emily sees me. She's by one of the armored humvees. She waves. Her smile is like the sun overhead, it makes me see everything, every little detail. I see every line on her face, every bit of fuzz on her cheeks, I can count her eyelashes.
She knows what's up as soon as she gets a good look at me. Only one jug of water, arm hanging, my pace taking on the shuffle of a sedated mental patient. This process takes 24 hours to complete, but the nastiest symptoms kick in within the first four. I see it register on her face. She can't believe it. Neither can I.
The military personnel, the heroes of the day all in sunglasses and black tactical gear, are the second ones to notice me. They know what to look for. I can hear their powerful voices yelling for everyone to stay back. Emily is calm. I'm proud of her.
They don't point their guns at me. They grant me that dignity.
"I got the water," I try to say, but my voice just gurgles. I can't remember how to talk.
I lose my grip on the jug and it thuds to the ground, water splashing out of its top. I see every droplet in the afternoon sun as it hits the dirt and soaks into the dirt and the bits of decayed vegetation, the earthen brown, the elements blending, life itself, earth and water. Everything is so fucking beautiful and I never bothered to notice it.
The soldiers are running to me, and at least I've made it back.
|
Everyone believes that they are special.
That they are unique, smarter, stronger, superior.
Perhaps that is why humans fear equality. It represents the single fact that we all suppress: that we aren’t the best; that we are replaceable; that we have no purpose.
So I shut out equality.
I had to believe I was better, because I found a purpose in my own superiority.
Perhaps there is a bit of circular logic behind that. Perhaps I only found purpose in my alleged superiority because I believed that helping others was pointless because I was so far above them.
But I needed a purpose. I needed something to live for. We all do.
It’s been a few hours since I was carried over to the hospital. When I was brought in, they knew I was dead. I’m on some massive cocktail of drugs to make this painless.
It’s working.
It’s not working.
I wish it was working.
My physical anguish is gone but my mental anguish has just begun.
I overhear doctors talking about the vaccine. I see people getting vaccinated.
For the next hour, that’s all I can think about.
I can’t stand the idea of the vaccine. The thing that makes people objectively better then me.
The thing I can’t have.
Rage boils in me, and eventually I shoot up out of my bed, only to realize that chains are restraining me.
I’m the one considered insane.
Stupid.
Worse.
And, deep down, I know it’s true. In a few more hours, I’ll be the one that everyone else looks down upon.
I don’t deserve mercy, but I never thought that any torture could be this bad.
I don’t want to feel inferior.
I’ve denied the concept of equality my entire life. When my family comes to search through my possession’s, they’ll find my klansman robes, and my swastika, my confederate flag. All of it.
In a life of believing that I was Mount Everest, only now can I realize that I’m no different than a patch of dirt on the flattest plain. Tiny. Insignificant. Practically worthless.
I’m close now. I can feel it. My vision is blurry, my mouth dry, my muscles weak.
This is it.
I regret everything, and I want to say it, but I lack the energy. I lack the focus.
Soon I’ll be another part of the mob.
Plain.
Identical.
Useless.
And then they’ll put me down like a dog.
I know my story has no happy ending; if there really is a God, he wouldn’t make my death this impossibly torturous.
Of all the things I’ve feared, death was always the biggest.
No one is above Death.
In an hour’s time, I’ll be a zombie.
You know what?
Perhaps I always was.
r/IdonthaveawritingsubredditbecauseIdontwritebutyoushouldstillupvotethis
| 2018-07-29T21:47:11
| 2018-07-29T19:39:29
| 47
| 15
|
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